Forbidden Thoughts
by MaraSil
Summary: When the Captain comes across Maria and the girls baking in the kitchen, he finds that watching her leads to forbidden thoughts. This story is AU. Complete.
1. Forbidden Thoughts

**Forbidden Thoughts**

When the Captain comes across Maria and the girls baking in the kitchen, he finds that watching her leads to forbidden thoughts.

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Captain von Trapp pinched the ridge of his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes. Going over the monthly financial records was a necessary process, but it was tedious. He'd developed a slight headache after poring over the numbers for the last few hours and was eager for a break.

Georg opened his eyes and sighed deeply. On his desk was a photograph of his late wife seated in the garden, surrounded by the children. He stared at it for a moment and smiled, remembering the day it had been taken. There was a time when he would not have been able to look at the photograph without experiencing pain, but time had healed much of the wound. Time and a certain young woman…

Georg shook his head sharply. He should not be thinking of Maria that way; she was a postulant, living in his home as governess to the children, and that was only temporary. Although nothing was official yet, he and Elsa had discussed marriage. His future was clear. He would marry the Baroness, and they and the children would become a complete family. It was all but decided. He was happy with Elsa; she had brought something to his life that had been missing for a long time.

Why could he not stop thinking about Maria?

Georg pushed his chair back forcefully and stood, ignoring the scraping sounds that ordinarily would have upset him. He needed a distraction. He left the den and sauntered aimlessly through the house.

Turning a corner, he suddenly got a whiff of a delectable aroma. He breathed in deeply. Yes, someone was baking. Perhaps Frau Schmidt was planning something extra special for the evening's dessert. It was a bit early for dinner preparations, but sometimes she prepared dessert in advance. Perhaps he could sneak a taste of the confection. Frau Schmidt knew that Georg had a sweet tooth.

Georg followed his nose to the kitchen, already dreaming about which treat he would find. Before he reached the open doorway, he heard the sound of voices and laughter, and he stopped in his tracks. That did not sound at all like Frau Schmidt; in fact, it sounded much more like…

Georg sidled up to the doorway and peeked inside the kitchen. Maria was helping Gretl stir a batter of cookie dough. Gretl's face was screwed up in concentration. Georg smiled to himself; Gretl was always trying to prove that she could do everything the older children could do. Marta was standing next to them, transferring freshly baked cookies from a baking tray to a cooling rack. She looked proud, happy to be assigned a task that she could do without assistance.

A sudden burst of laughter brought Georg's attention back to Maria. She was laughing heartily, the top of her apron and the lower part of her face covered in bits of cookie dough. Gretl had stirred too vigorously and had splattered the dough. She looked as if she wanted to cry, but Maria held up a finger and looked at her firmly. Gretl, comforted by the look in Maria's eyes, grinned at her and went back to stirring, more gently this time.

Maria began cleaning herself up with a kitchen towel. He could still see the mirth in her eyes. So many women would have been angry at the incident, but that was not Maria's way. He could not imagine how Elsa would have handled the situation. In fact, he could not even imagine her baking with the children in the first place. Georg admired Maria's way with the children, the way she was able to get so much pleasure out of ordinary things, the way she enjoyed life. She was a breath of fresh air. So lovely…

"You have a bit of batter at the corner of your mouth, Fraulein Maria," Marta pointed out.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Waste not, want not," Maria responded, and her tongue reached out to lick up the bit of dough.

Georg's breath caught in his throat, and he unknowingly licked his own lips. He was unexpectedly overwhelmed with a desire to lick that bit of dough from her mouth. He wanted to taste it, to taste _her_. Again he licked his lips, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. He took an involuntary step forward.

"Look, it's Father! Father, we've been baking cookies! Come and have one!" Marta shouted, happy to see him and impatient to share her culinary accomplishment.

Maria looked up, and Georg locked eyes with her. He knew he should look away; he had not had time to disguise what he was feeling. But he could not tear his eyes away from her, could not so quickly suppress the hunger he felt for her taste.

Maria's eyes widened slightly and she blushed. He didn't know if she understood completely what she saw in his eyes, but it was clear she saw and understood enough. He thought she'd look away then, but she didn't. She continued staring back at him. He saw the moment she began to breathe harder, and his heart started pounding. If the children weren't here…

"Father, please try one of the cookies I made. It's chocolate chip. Don't you want to taste it?" Marta had come around the counter to offer him a cookie.

Without looking away from Maria, he replied, "Yes, actually. I think I would very much like a taste." And, his eyes smoldering as they bore into Maria, he licked his lips again.

Maria flushed scarlet and dropped the spoon she'd been holding. The sound of the spoon falling seemed to break the spell and she dropped her gaze. Georg shook himself mentally, silently berating himself for making her feel uncomfortable. He'd had no right to say what he'd said, to think those thoughts. It wasn't appropriate. He accepted the cookie Marta offered, took a bite, and smiled warmly at her.

"Mmm, delicious. I shall have you baking for me often if your cookies turn out this well. Thank you for the treat; it's exactly what I needed before returning to work in the den." Marta giggled in delight and returned to her assigned task. Georg smiled his goodbye at Gretl, who responded with a toothless grin. He looked finally at Maria. He could see that her face was still flushed, and she was stirring the cookie dough vigorously.

"Goodbye, Fraulein Maria. I'll see you at dinner," he said softly.

"Goodbye, Captain." Maria did not look up, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Georg left, walking slowly back to the den, still trying and failing to stop thinking about that forbidden taste.


	2. Forbidden Taste

**Chapter 2: Forbidden Taste**

I had no intention of continuing this story, but Georg overruled me, quite forcefully I might add. I don't know if he has any other 'forbidden' chapters left in him, but I'll be sure to ask him. :)

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Georg closed the ledger, sighing his relief at having completed his monthly review of the financial records. He leaned back in the brown leather chair, rolled his head gently from side to side and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that had worked its way into his muscles. Glancing out of the nearby window, he was surprised to see the long shadows cast by the trees outside. It was much later than he'd thought. Checking the clock on his desk, he realized that it was almost time for supper.

The task had taken twice as long as it usually did. He did not have to wonder at the cause of the delay in completing his work; he had been inordinately distracted by the relentlessly persistent image of Maria in the kitchen. His thoughts kept returning to that moment when she had licked the dough from the corner of her mouth, and to the moment when they had stared into each other's eyes, neither one able to look away. He was assaulted once again by the image of her flushed cheeks, her full lips, her breath coming faster…

Georg stood abruptly and began pacing briskly. No! He could not let himself lose control of his thoughts. Already he had unwittingly let her see too much; he could not risk doing so again. It would be unfair to Elsa, to whom he had an unconfirmed yet tacit commitment. Neither would it be fair to Maria. She was doing the family a service; she was a postulant, for heaven's sake! She could hardly have expected to see the look in his eyes, to hear the words he had spoken. Her reaction must have been more shock than anything else. What must she think of him? And when had he started thinking of her as Maria instead of Fraulein Maria?

Georg resolved to put the incident behind him; it would be better for all concerned. He put the ledger away in the top desk drawer, locked it securely, and switched off the lamp. The hour was growing long; he needed to head upstairs to wash up and dress for supper. But even as he left the den, he knew that putting the incident behind him would be easier said than done; already his traitorous thoughts were bedeviling him with the image of blue eyes and soft lips.

* * * * *

Georg strode quickly toward the dining room, only slowing as he reached the doorway. Despite the fact that he was a few minutes late for supper, it would not do to appear to be rushing in his own home. The fault was his own, however, and he was annoyed with himself. He had decided at the last minute to shave, even though he had suspected that he would not have enough time. He refused to think about why he had felt the urge to shave in the first place; it would only make his temper flare, and he was already on edge.

With a display of calm he did not actually feel, Georg entered the dining room. He was the last to arrive, as he had known he would be. The others were all seated, their plates already set before them. Georg frowned, his aggravation with himself growing.

He glanced around the room. The children were looking at their plates, Kurt with an especially intense look that almost made him smile. The boy could eat a horse if he allowed it. Only Brigitta's eyes were not directed at the table; her eyes were on him, watching him closely. He stared back at her, wondering not for the first time at what went through her mind when she looked at him.

He braved a quick look at Maria; she was straightening Gretl's napkin. He was momentarily fascinated by the graceful movements of her hands before he realized that he was still standing, staring. He frowned again and pulled out his chair more forcefully than was necessary. As he sat down, he heard a muffled giggle. A stern look directed at the children silenced the culprit instantly. Much to his consternation, he was not even sure which of the children it had been. No matter; he would sit, eat his supper, and the evening would be over. He told himself that tomorrow things would be back to normal in the light of a new day. Georg picked up his fork and prepared to eat.

"Excuse me, Captain, but we haven't yet thanked the Lord."

Maria's firm voice cut through the silence quite effectively. It did not surprise him; he knew by now that she was never timid when she had something to say. He noticed, however, that she was looking in his direction but not actually at him. She was avoiding his eyes. He cursed himself for the hundredth time for his earlier impulse.

"For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful."

Simple, yet sincere, as always. A good description of her, he reflected.

Maria reached for her fork and began eating. Georg and the children followed suit. He decided to focus on the pork loin, mashed potatoes, and peas on his plate, avoiding all distractions. He ate studiously; he would get through this meal if it killed him.

For a while, the only sounds were the clinking of utensils and an occasional loud swallow from some of the children until a soft sigh followed by an almost moaned _"Mmm…"_ drew Georg's attention away from his plate. Who had made _that_ sound?

When he looked up, his eyes fell on Maria, seated directly across from him. Her eyes were half shut, and she was just pulling the fork away from her mouth. Clearly the sound had come from her; she was evidently savoring her mashed potatoes.

He stared as she took another bite, then another. Although she made no more sounds, her obvious enjoyment of the potatoes was one of the most…sensual things he had ever seen. Must she eat them with such intense pleasure? It was disconcerting; it was mesmerizing. Almost unaware of his reaction, he held himself tightly, every muscle in his body tensing.

He watched, entranced, his own food forgotten, as the potatoes disappeared into her mouth, past those delectable lips. He watched as she swallowed, his eyes following the alluring curve of her neck. He continued watching, hoping she would make that sound again.

"Father, why are you looking at Fraulein Maria so strangely? Mashed potatoes are her favorite food, after all. Haven't you ever seen someone enjoying their potatoes?" Brigitta asked innocently.

Georg blinked, yanked abruptly from the very thoughts he had sworn to avoid. Maria, who had been completely unaware of his attentions, appeared startled by Brigitta's question. She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and stared at her plate, her cheeks growing pink as she must have realized that he had been watching her. Georg cleared his throat, trying desperately to come up with a credible response to Brigitta's question.

"I heard a noise. I was merely making sure that Fraulein Maria was in no danger of choking."

Admittedly, it was a weak excuse, but it was all he could think to say. He cleared his throat again.

"That's enough talking at the table, Brigitta. Finish your supper." He ignored the stares of the other children and returned his attention to his food.

To his relief, the rest of the meal passed without incident. Georg thought he was past the danger of temptation when Frau Schmidt brought in dessert; it was the chocolate chip cookies Maria, Marta, and Gretl had baked that afternoon. With the new…distractions of the evening's meal, he had forgotten all about the cookies. As the children expressed their delight with barely suppressed squeals, Georg nearly groaned aloud. He looked over at Maria and saw that her cheeks were flushed again. He was certain she was remembering their afternoon encounter.

The children took a few cookies each, exhibiting an impressive restraint that Georg envied, as he seemed unable to impose any restraint on himself. He took two cookies but left them on his plate, untouched. Maria ate only one, chewing slowly and without the enthusiasm she had displayed earlier. Georg was grateful for one thing; cookies were a quick dessert.

"Father, may I be excused?" Liesl asked, always the first to want to leave the table. Usually Georg refused to allow her an early exit, but this time he agreed quickly. That prompted the other children to ask to be excused as well. Eager to end the evening before embarrassing himself and Maria further, he acquiesced. The children scrambled away hastily, perhaps seeking to escape before he changed his mind.

Maria rose from her chair, preparing to leave as well. Georg stood and watched her walk from her end of the table. When she was almost beside him, he suddenly did not want her to go. Although it was irrational and beyond all reason, he found that he could not let her leave without speaking to her.

"Fraulein…" he began, not having any idea of what to say.

Maria froze in place but did not turn to look at him. She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent, finding it impossible to organize a coherent thought.

"You wished to say something, Captain?"

He heard confusion in her voice and perhaps a little trepidation. It was no wonder; he felt as confused as she sounded. He grasped at his thoughts, searching for something to say. He caught sight of the cookies on his plate and, remembering Maria baking with his girls in the kitchen, picked one up.

"I wanted to thank you, Fraulein."

"Thank me? For what, Captain?" And, at last, Maria looked at him for the first time that evening. His breath caught as he looked into those bright blue eyes that so often exuded kindness. All at once he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

"Thank you for all you're doing with the children, for the children. They have been without a mother, or even an adequate governess, for so long. Seeing you with them, caring for them, teaching them, doing things that their mother would have done with them…I'm grateful, Fraulein."

He had not realized that he had noticed so much, but the images of Maria with the children were clear in his mind. He should have realized before now how extraordinary she was.

Maria's eyes softened as he spoke, and she smiled at him.

"I only want to help in any way I can, Captain."

Georg could hear the sincerity in her voice, could see it in her expression, and he smiled back at her. He suddenly remembered the cookie he still held in his hand and raised it.

"This is something their mother would have done with them, baking cookies. Thank you for that."

Not knowing what else to say, he finally bit into the cookie. To his surprise, Maria's gaze lowered, her eyes fixed on his mouth, watching him chew. He told himself it could not possibly mean what it looked like, she could not possibly be thinking thoughts similar to his, but his rapidly accelerating heartbeat betrayed his hopes.

He reached up to wipe a few crumbs from his lips and was astonished when he saw Maria's mouth open slightly, heard her quick intake of breath. His blood was racing now. Unexpectedly, Maria looked up. Her eyes were feverish, her breath unsteady. He knew she could see an answering heat in his own eyes. He tried to swallow and couldn't; his mouth was too dry.

One step. One step and she would be within his reach. One step and he could share the taste of that cookie with her. One step and he would finally know what she tasted like.

A step he was not free to take. Instead, he slowly took a step back. After a moment, she did the same, stepping away from him, lowering her eyes, the flush returning to her cheeks.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain." Maria rushed out of the room.

Georg watched her leave, then sat down hard in his chair and buried his head in his hands. This was going to be much more difficult than he had imagined.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

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_Reviews make this gal very happy!_


	3. Forbidden Touch

**Chapter 3: Forbidden Touch**

A/N: Don't let the title mislead you; this is still a K+ story. :) I'm not sure if this is the last of the 'forbidden' chapters, but I'm leaving my options open in case Georg speaks to me again. Hope you enjoy!

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Georg was exhausted. He lay in bed with his eyes wide open, feeling worn out after hours of tossing and turning. A third consecutive sleepless night was starting to take its toll.

He threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. This was getting ridiculous.

Ever since the incident with Maria in the kitchen and the meal later that same evening, Georg had been wrestling with himself incessantly. He had kept his distance from Maria whenever possible. When contact was unavoidable, he was careful to speak and behave formally, more formally even than when she had first arrived. He restricted his conversation to what was necessary, nothing more.

It seemed to make no difference. The air between them was so charged that even the children had begun to notice. No one said anything to him directly, but several of them, Liesl and Brigitta in particular, had begun to give him questioning looks with increasing frequency. And Maria…he could tell that she was uncomfortable in his presence. It was nothing so obvious; she did not shy away from him, but she was restrained, more cautious, not as free in her manner as she had been. He found that he missed the sparkle in her eyes.

More than once Georg had considered leaving. He could go to Vienna, visit Elsa. He _should _go to Vienna to see her. But every time he thought about it, he could not bring himself to do it. The memory of Maria staring at his mouth and looking at him with feverish eyes was paralyzing him.

And now, just as every night since then, he could not shut off his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there waiting for him. It was worse when he would finally slip into a fitful sleep, usually in the early hours of the morning. Then he found her in his dreams, dreams that were becoming more intensely vivid with each passing night. Every day it was getting harder to look Maria in the eye. She was too observant, saw too much. He could not afford to have her suspect how much he was trying so hard to suppress.

Georg flung the covers off and got up. Perhaps some warm milk might help. Or some scotch. He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers, put on his robe, and left the bedroom.

He walked down the hallway, still brooding and lost in his thoughts. Before he reached the stairs, however, he heard the sound of hushed voices. A nearby table lamp illuminated the hallway enough for him to see that two bedroom doors were ajar – Marta's and Maria's. Had something happened?

As he stepped closer, he could hear that the voices were coming from Marta's bedroom. He approached the room silently, not wanting to disturb or startle Marta or Maria, whom he presumed to be with the girl. That was the last thing he wanted or needed.

He reached Marta's room and looked inside, careful not to make any noise. Marta was sitting up in bed, the marks of recently shed tears on her cheeks. Marta clung to Maria, who sat next to her, with her arms wrapped loosely around Maria's waist. Maria had one arm around Marta's shoulder, her hand stroking Marta's hair soothingly. Georg strained to hear what they were saying, but they were speaking too softly for him to understand any of the words. He could only guess that Marta had had a nightmare, and that Maria was comforting her.

Georg watched as Marta responded to Maria's gentle hands and voice. After several minutes, he saw the girl nod and lie back down, shifting to find a comfortable position. Maria smoothed the covers over her, kissed Marta's forehead, and moved to stand. Marta reached a hand out to Maria, clearly not wanting her to leave. Maria smiled softly at her and sat down again, going back to stroking the girl's hair. It was only moments before Marta was fast asleep.

Georg found the sight breathtakingly beautiful. It seemed so right, somehow. Maria belonged here, in this house, with them. With him.

It was torture. Why did he want what he could not have?

After planting one last kiss on Marta's forehead, Maria stood and turned to leave. It was only then that Georg realized he should have retreated from the doorway, but it was too late. Maria's long hesitation before she began walking toward the door could only mean that she had already seen him.

He stood back stiffly from the doorway as she approached, giving her enough room to pass through without having to touch him. She closed the door gently and turned to face him.

One look at her face and instantly he was filled with concern, wanting to reach out to her. She looked as tired as he felt. But at the same time, almost against his will, his mind seemed to want to jump to conclusions. Had she been having trouble sleeping as well? Was she being kept awake with thoughts of him, while he thought of her? The possibility was as tantalizing as it was disconcerting.

He noticed that she was wearing the same voluminous white nightgown she had worn the night he had walked in on her and the children in her bedroom. He wondered if she wore it every night. He wondered how she would look if…

"Marta had a nightmare. I happened to be awake and heard her. She's fine now and has gone back to sleep."

Maria spoke softly, just above a whisper. She was looking somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. Georg closed his eyes and cursed himself; he had been staring at her again, letting his thoughts run wild, forgetting to make an effort to conceal his longing for her. She must have noticed something in the way he had looked at her. He commanded himself to focus and opened his eyes.

"Marta used to have a lot of nightmares after her mother passed away," he said, keeping his voice as low as she had, so as not to wake the children. "They slowly faded, but occasionally they return. It's fortunate that you heard her and were able to go to her."

He had worried about Marta, perhaps the gentlest and most vulnerable of all of the children. He had not been able to comfort her; he'd been too lost in his own grief at the time. Liesl had taken on the role in his absence. He regretted how distant he had been with his own children when they had needed him the most.

"I'm afraid I haven't been a very good father. After Agathe died, I just couldn't…" The words trailed off, his voice filled with guilt and regret.

Maria looked at him, surprise and something else in her eyes; he thought it might be compassion. The warmth in her eyes was almost palpable.

"You did the best you could, Captain. The children know that you love them, and they love you. They don't blame you for anything; they only want you to be with them."

She was a wonder to him, always ready to console another person, always ready to see the best in everyone – even him, despite the fact that he had just made her feel so uncomfortable yet again.

"What did you say to Marta to calm her down enough to fall back asleep?" he asked, wanting to know more about what had happened, but wanting also to continue the conversation. He needed to find a way to talk to her without all of the tension getting in the way.

Maria thought for a moment, apparently searching for the right words.

"Marta's dream made her feel lost, abandoned. I told her that we all lose people we love, people who can never be replaced." A shadow of pain crossed her brow. She paused, then continued. "I told her that God never abandons us. I told her that, even when I leave, I will always find a way to remain a part of her life, even if it can only be through letters. And I told her that there are always people in our lives to love, who love us. All we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts."

She looked down as she finished speaking. He was almost grateful that she did so; her words had stunned him. _'There are always people in our lives to love…all we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts.'_ The words reverberated in his mind, demanding attention. He fought them back, pushed them away. It was too much to think about right now, especially with her standing in front of him. Not to mention the thought of her leaving…he pushed that thought away as well.

"You must be tired, Fraulein. I'll walk you to your room." The formality in his tone seemed to catch Maria by surprise, but formality was his only defense these days. She glanced at him quickly before turning toward the direction of her bedroom, not saying a word.

As she took her first steps, he noticed that she was barefoot. She must have rushed from her room, not stopping to put on slippers or a robe, wanting to go to Marta as quickly as she could.

He had not seen a woman's bare feet since Agathe. In his mind, bare feet belonged in more intimate settings. He should probably not be looking at Maria's feet now; it was too personal. He forced himself to look away, but not before noticing that her feet looked as soft as the rest of her.

They arrived at Maria's bedroom and he reached out to open the door wider for her. She must not have expected the gesture, perhaps not being used to the common courtesies of a gentleman, because she reached out at the same time, her hand falling on his arm, the movement bringing her closer to him than she had ever been before.

The sudden unexpected touch, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the warmth of her closeness sent a sudden, almost uncontrollable wave of passion through him. He reacted without thinking. He took her hand in his before she'd had time to move. He paused, knowing he should let her go. When she did not pull away, his heart started pounding in his chest, his blood racing through his veins.

He told himself that it was just her hand, that it was nothing inappropriate. But in his heart he knew it was more. The feel of skin on skin for the first time when night after night he dreamed of so much more…he could scarcely believe that he was finally _touching_ her. He had to remind himself to hold back; he could not lose his head. But his fingers were already moving.

He traced the lines in her palm with his thumb, his touch light, just skimming the surface. Her skin was so soft, softer even than he had imagined. He saw Maria's eyes flutter shut, heard the hitch in her breathing. The reality of her responding to his touch, the realization that she wanted it as much as he did...

He let his fingers travel across hers, exploring them to the fingertips, still keeping his touch light as a feather, almost tickling her skin. Neither one of them spoke; the only sound was their breathing, growing heavier and more ragged by the second. He slowly, softly slid his fingers to her wrist, feeling her pulse accelerate as he caressed her. He felt a tremor move through her body. It made him want more.

His eyes drank in the beauty of her face, so close to his. Not letting go of her wrist, he brought his other hand to her chin and trailed his fingers along her jaw before returning to her chin and lifting her delicately flushed face toward him. She looked at him then, and his eyes darkened when he saw the longing in hers.

Only a few inches separated him from the luscious lips he saw and felt every time he closed his eyes. He licked his lips, his mouth hungry and eager for hers. She saw the movement and shuddered, her eyes starting to close again.

The slam of a door downstairs made them jump. It must be closer to morning than he had realized; one of the servants must already be up, beginning the early preparations for breakfast. Georg felt like he was being pulled out from deep water; he felt disoriented.

In that same moment, Maria twisted free from him and stepped back into the bedroom doorway. Her eyes were wide, almost wild, with traces of passion remaining in them, her breathing still ragged. She stared at him for one long electrifying moment before she took another step back and closed the door.

Georg stared at the closed door for a time; he could not have said how long. He felt as though everything in the world he wanted to hold had been wrenched from his hands. He wanted to tear down the door, follow her inside the bedroom. But of course, he could not do that. He would not do that.

Instead, he stepped up to the door and rested his forehead against it, closing his eyes. He reached out a hand, the same hand that had caressed hers, and slid his fingers down the door, his touch as soft as when it had lingered on her skin. Then he curled his hand into a fist.

This had to stop.

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_I'm always grateful for reviews!_


	4. Forbidden Temptation

**Chapter 4: Forbidden Temptation**

A/N: So Georg spoke to me, but he surprised me a bit with what he had to say. I hope you enjoy!

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Georg accommodated one more shirt into his suitcase before pressing down hard to shut the bag and setting it down at the foot of his bed. He looked around the room one more time, making sure that he had not forgotten anything. As he turned his head, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The haggard face that stared back at him seemed like the face of a stranger, one with severely accusing eyes. Georg felt the strength go out of him and he sat on the bed, his body limp, his shoulders hunched.

What a mess he had made of everything. His uncontrollable impulses had nearly made him cross a line that should not be crossed. To make matters worse, he knew it was not his honor that had stopped him; had that door not been slammed, he would not have stopped what he had started. The urge to keep touching Maria, to taste her lips, had been overpowering. Her body had trembled for him; her response to the touch of his hands had made her even more irresistible.

But resist he must. And if he could not do it here in his own home, then he would have to leave until he could control what was happening to him.

After leaving Maria's bedroom door and returning to his room, he had not bothered to try to go to sleep; he had known the attempt would be useless. His mind and his body were still racing. He had paced for more than an hour, trying to convince himself that he could pack away what he was feeling, store it in the furthest recesses of his mind. If it had been only a purely physical attraction, perhaps he would have been able to achieve some measure of control.

'_There are always people in our lives to love, who love us. All we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts.'_

Maria's words were haunting him despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that he refused to consider them. If only things were different…but they weren't. He would not ruin the life of a young woman who was devoting her life to God, who was in his house on behalf of the abbey, who was answerable to him while she worked in his home. He could not let himself forget his own commitments and obligations.

He knew all of that; it was clear in his mind. But none of it erased the image of her face from his thoughts; none of it made him want her any less; none of it eased the all-consuming ache he felt for her; none of it made him stop dreaming of an impossible future with her in his life.

He had to make things right. He would leave, go to Vienna. He would put his life back in order.

With a forced determination, Georg straightened his shoulders and got up. He would take his leave, and then he would be gone.

* * * * *

It was late; Georg estimated that the family must be almost done with breakfast. In fact, he was just outside the dining room and he could hear chairs being pushed from the table as the children stood to leave. He nearly collided with Friedrich as he entered the room.

"In a bit of a rush, are we?" He preferred his sons to contain their energy in the house, and for the most part they did. On occasion, however, their exuberance reminded him that they were indeed still young boys.

"I'm sorry, Father. I didn't see you there." Friedrich stood tall and straight, in effect imitating his father. Looking more closely at him, Georg realized that perhaps he was no longer the young boy Georg still pictured in his mind. His children were growing so quickly. He put a hand on Friedrich's shoulder and smiled at him, feeling a sudden rush of pride for his son. Friedrich's eyes lit up and he grinned back at his father.

"Father, you missed breakfast." Kurt gave his father a sorrowful, almost pitying look. Georg smiled to himself; it would appear that he had at least one young boy whose priorities were still those of a child.

"I wasn't very hungry this morning."

"How strange, neither was Fraulein Maria. She barely touched her food." Kurt looked at his governess with a perplexed expression.

Georg had not looked at Maria since entering the room; his run-in with Friedrich had momentarily distracted him. But Kurt's observation brought her to the forefront of his mind once again, a place she seemed to occupy almost constantly. He looked toward the other end of the table, mentally steeling himself against any reaction he might have to seeing her for the first time after what had happened between them.

She was still seated at the table but stood when he looked in her direction. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, and he felt sure she would avoid his gaze. Instead, she surprised him by lifting her eyes to his.

Despite having braced himself, he felt completely unprepared for the impact of looking into her eyes. His resolve and determination forgotten, he found himself drowning in those bewitching eyes. Just one look at her and it was as if he could still feel her body close to his, inflaming him all over again. His eyes devoured her, taking in her widening eyes, her moist lips, the flush in her cheeks that was beginning to spread down her neck, down toward her chest. He wanted to go to her, needed to go to her. She was too far away from him…

Maria looked away, her blush deepening.

"Father? Are you felling ill?" Liesl was standing next to him; when had she moved toward him? She was looking back and forth between him and Maria. What had she noticed? Did she suspect something? He hoped not; he did not want to have to explain something he did not fully understand himself.

He remembered why he had come downstairs; he had to tell the children about his trip to Vienna, say goodbye to them. He knew that the trip would come as a surprise. Although the children were used to him traveling, he did not want to run the risk of having them feel abandoned, as Marta had last night after her nightmare. And things had changed; he had not been traveling as he had in the past, not since Maria had come to stay with them.

"I'm fine. Liesl, please take the other children out back. I'll join you in a few minutes. I have something to tell you, but first I need to have a few words with Fraulein Maria."

Maria glanced at him quickly, alarm evident in her face. He supposed it should not surprise him that she might feel alarmed to be alone with him, and he knew that he had no one to blame but himself. But it pained him all the same.

"All right, Father. We'll be waiting for you." Liesl gave him a final curious look before gathering the rest of the children and leading them out of the room.

Georg looked at Maria, opened his mouth to speak and immediately closed it again. Now that they were alone, now that the moment was here, he found himself at a loss for words. He had no idea how to begin, how much he should say.

Maria was still standing, being careful not to look at him. He saw her take a deep breath and let it out, seeming to draw strength from it. She raised her head and gave him a steady look.

"You wished to speak to me, Captain?" Her voice was subdued but clear and even.

Georg was reminded of the last time she had said something similar – the evening he had watched her eat her mashed potatoes and she had watched him eat one of the cookies she had baked. It was the night his world had been sent spinning out of control. It was the first time he had realized that she might be as attracted to him as he was to her, that she might share his hunger. He felt himself grow warm at the thought.

This was not helping. He needed to focus.

"Please, sit down." He could at least try to put her at ease.

Maria hesitated, then sat down. He walked over to her end of the table and sat in Gretl's chair. He saw that her hands were folded in her lap. It was probably best not to look at them; it would only send him into another swarm of tantalizing memories. He kept his eyes on the table, on the remains of the jam and bread on her plate. He cleared his throat, which had become dry.

"I must ask you to forgive me, Fraulein. I have behaved abominably." He heard the remorse in his voice; he was grateful she could not hear the other truth – that, given the same circumstances, he would have done the same thing all over again.

"Captain, you don't have to…"

"Please, Fraulein, let me finish." He was sure she would find a way to excuse him; she was generous to a fault. But he could not afford to let her excuse him, to justify his behavior. It would only tempt him to stay, to fool himself into thinking that things could go back to normal. He knew they would not, not for him.

"I've decided to go to Vienna, just as soon as I've said goodbye to the children. My bags are already packed." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her head snap up. He looked up from the table; she was staring at him, blinking rapidly, looking startled. He wanted to take her hand, to reassure her, but he did not dare.

"I think some time away, some distance, might help give me…perspective. If I stay here, I don't…I can't…" He shook his head in frustration. How could he explain it to her?

"I won't be able to control this," he finished, his voice fading as he looked into her eyes, letting himself be taken in by them, letting her see that he was hers.

"This?" Maria asked, her eyes on his, her voice unsteady.

This would probably be the last time they would be alone together. When he returned from Vienna, he intended to have found a way to submerge his inappropriate desires. Things would be different then. But right now he could hardly bear the thought of not being with her. Right now all he wanted was her.

He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it, his lips lingering on her fingers. Then he put her hand on his chest, holding it in place, letting her feel how hard and fast his heart was beating for her. His eyes hid nothing; they smoldered with unrestrained hunger. He watched as she swallowed, watched her as she took in quick shallow breaths.

"This," he said, his voice low and shaky, wanting her to hear the way she unraveled him.

He reached out and cupped her cheek, then slid his hand up under her hair to trace the outline of her ear. She breathed in sharply, a shudder traveling through her body as it had last night. Like turning on a switch, he instantly felt the all too familiar yearning that he felt only for her, the familiar rush of blood coursing through his body and setting him on fire, making him want to burn with her. His mind was a mass of incoherent thoughts and urgent impulses – _taste touch lick kiss take feel more more_.

His fingers were trembling when he brought them to her mouth, sliding them back and forth along her silken lips. Every inch of his body strained toward her when she opened her mouth slightly as she gasped for air, her breath coming hard, and he was powerless to hold back the moan that escaped him when he saw the evidence of her arousal. He stopped himself before he slid his finger into her mouth, knowing that would push him over the edge. He withdrew his hand.

"This," he whispered, his voice deep and husky with passion. "I won't be able to control this." He released her hand.

Maria leaned back and rested her head on the back of the chair, her chest heaving, her eyes dark. She looked so beautiful, so inviting, so tempting; it took every ounce of self-control not to lean into her and kiss her and…

"I have to go."

He stood and looked down at her, willing his feet to move. He had to force himself to turn around and walk away from her. When he heard her pushing her chair back, he could not help himself; he turned to look at her one more time. She was standing, holding on to the back of the chair. The look in her eyes almost made him rush back to her, made him want to forget about leaving and take her in his arms instead. He took a step but stopped when she spoke.

"Goodbye, Captain." Anguish. That's what he heard in her voice. Anguish and resignation.

"Goodbye, Maria." He turned and left.

* * * * *

_Reviews are my mashed potatoes!_


	5. Forbidden Dreams

**Chapter 5: Forbidden Dreams**

A/N: I've had a touch of writer's block. I came up with an outline for this chapter days ago, but I wasn't able to figure out how to write it. Then today on the subway ride home from work, it came together. I hope you like it.

Unfortunately, I had to break with the Forbidden 'T' pattern. 'Dreams' just fit this chapter better than any 'T' word I could come up with.

* * * * *

_Clear azure blue skies. Crisp mountain air. Birds chirping, singing. A field of edelweiss waving in the brisk wind, a marriage of white and green. The sun warm on his face._

_If he could only remember why he was on this mountain._

_Children's laughter. Running footsteps. Mild complaints and arguments. The flutter of pages being turned in a book. Aimless humming._

_Yes, of course. There they were – the children, picnicking, playing on the mountain. Three-legged race. He smiled, leaning against a tree._

"_Louisa, will you be my partner?" Friedrich. Forceful. Becoming a man._

"_Of course! The others won't stand a chance!" Louisa, a competitive gleam in her eyes._

_He shook his head fondly. Always so competitive._

"_I don't want to be in your silly race, Friedrich!" Gretl, hands on hips, glaring. _

_Trying to intimidate her brother. Adorable._

_Brigitta, nose buried in a book, as usual. So intelligent._

_Marta, playing with her doll. Pink dress, of course. So delicate._

_Liesl, staring into space. Dreaming. Becoming a woman._

_Is this a dream? The air swirled, then cleared._

"_Will you be my partner?" Kurt, man/child, looking up at Maria._

_Maria. Exquisite, beloved wife._

_Children shouting, cheering. Kurt and Maria pulling ahead, falling, a web of arms and legs and laughter and hiccups._

_Let me help you._

_He holds his hands out to help her up. Love in her eyes. So much happiness._

_Blue nightgown flung to the floor. Tangled white satin sheets. Hot, mingled, panting breaths. Skin slick with sweat. Enticing, inviting curves. Taste of salt and nectar. Playful wrestling. Laughter swallowed by moans. Stifled screams. Quiet embrace._

"_All of my kisses are yours."_

"_I love you."_

_Where are you going?_

_She fades, slips from his fingers._

_Don't leave me._

_So cold, cold as ice. _

_Don't leave me._

_His hands are empty._

_She's gone._

He woke up gasping, his hands fisted so tightly that he drew blood. It took several seconds for him to realize that it had been just a dream. He relaxed his hands and stared at the shallow gouges in his palms before dropping his hands to his sides. He was almost grateful for the wounds; it gave him a different kind of pain.

That had been the worst one so far. It had felt so real; she had been his, had been in his life, in his bed, in his heart. But the rest wasn't a dream, was it? She was gone; she had slipped away. She had never, in fact, been his at all. _That_ was real. The empty chasm inside him, the loneliness, the loss he had no right to claim – that was real.

He turned on his side, curled his knees to his chest, his eyes dry. He had to work hard to swallow past the lump in his throat.

* * * * *

Georg made his way downstairs to join Elsa for breakfast. It would be just the two of them this morning; Max had already left for an early morning meeting.

He slowed his steps. He still felt half dazed with exhaustion, and the traces of his dream lingered. He knew he needed to clear his head before he got downstairs. Elsa liked to engage in conversation at the table, to plan their day together. He had to stay sharp, regardless of how difficult it was.

He had been plagued by dreams ever since he had arrived in Vienna two weeks earlier. At first the dreams had been similar to those he'd had those three nights before he'd left his home. He had almost gotten used to them; he had begun learning to accept that Maria would join him every night in his dreams, if not in reality.

But gradually the dreams had become more like nightmares. They always started out the same, with some kind of family gathering. Then somehow he would just know that she was gone. He had begun to dread waking up in the morning. Every day she slipped from his fingers. Every day he lost her all over again. It was becoming unbearable.

He was on the last step when he tripped. He was able to catch himself on the banister before completely losing his balance. This was the second time that he had slipped on the marble steps. Elsa's home was beautiful, tastefully decorated, elegant beyond compare, but sometimes he thought it was all like these marble steps – pale and austere and cold. Perhaps he was being unfair, but this house did not feel like a home.

He entered the dining room where Elsa sat at the head of the table, waiting for him. He walked over to her.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well?" He bent to kiss her cheek. She looked and smelled lovely, as always. He sat down at her right.

Elsa smiled at him brilliantly before her expression changed to a look of concern.

"I slept quite well, but you, my dear Georg, you look as if you haven't slept at all."

"It's nothing. You know I never sleep well when I'm away from home." It was true that he had always slept poorly when he travelled; he was glad to have a valid reason for looking tired, even if it was not the whole truth. He took his napkin and placed it on his lap. It was made of a rich, white cloth.

_Tangled white satin sheets. Hot, mingled, panting breaths. Skin slick with sweat. Taste of salt and nectar. Laughter swallowed by moans. Stifled screams._

He ran a finger along the napkin, remembering the feel of the satin sheets against his skin, remembering the feel of his body sliding against them, sliding against her, remembering the taste of her skin…

"Darling, are you all right? You look a bit flushed." Elsa was looking at him intently, with a penetrating look. She saw the way he was gripping the napkin and arched an eyebrow. He let go of it and smoothed it carefully on his lap.

"I'm quite well, thank you. It's just a bit warm in here." Stupid of him to let himself get so easily distracted. He took a long drink of water.

"Georg, what's happened to your hands?" Elsa sounded alarmed. She tried to pull one of his hands toward her to look at it more closely. He pulled it away before she could grab on to him. He had forgotten the wounds.

"Just a slight accident this morning. They're merely minor cuts. I've already treated them. Now, what were you saying?" He appreciated Elsa's concern but thought it wise to deflect it. He could never tell her the truth. He needed to be more careful.

"I just said that if the bed is uncomfortable, I can have Frau Krause make arrangements to move you to another room. There are several others available." She gave him a searching look but did not ask for more of an explanation. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"No, no, don't give it another thought. I'm fine where I am. Now, I've delayed our breakfast and you must be starving. Please, let's eat." He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He poured himself a cup of tea and reached for a slice of toast.

"Very well, dear." She smiled, nodding slightly, and helped herself to some fruit.

"We received an invitation from Baron Becker to attend a tea party this afternoon. You remember the Beckers, don't you, darling? You met them at the Müller ball last week." She spoke in between bites, as was customary for her.

"The Beckers...yes, I do remember them. Herr Becker and I spoke of our days in the navy, though he served years before I did. I believe he's about the age my father would be had he lived."

Georg counted himself fortunate to have remembered the Beckers; he was certain it was only because of the naval connection. He had been to what seemed like an endless stream of empty social gatherings over the past two weeks. They had left him feeling weary; he was not sure how many more he could endure.

Would he be able to live this kind of life when he married Elsa? Surely it would be different once they were married. They would be living in his home, not here in Vienna. He would insist on a more balanced life, a simpler life. But he could not imagine Elsa being happy with the way he preferred to live. Sometimes he thought they were too different. And yet, she had brought him a measure of happiness when he had needed it desperately.

He looked at her, hearing her speak but no longer listening to the words. She was elegant, sophisticated, independent, a perfect hostess, a noblewoman. She should be a perfect match for him. She paused in her litany of information about the guests that would be attending the afternoon tea party and took a bite from her grapefruit. Yes, she was elegant, even in the way she ate. She had perfect manners. But there was no spirit of freedom in her, no sign of being able to give herself fully to the joys and simple pleasures of life. Not like…

"…on the 28th. I should really send a final confirmation by this afternoon if we'll be attending."

He had lost track of what she was saying. But the 28th…

"Pardon me, what was that about the 28th?"

"Georg, are you paying attention at all? Honestly, we must find a way for you to get a good night's sleep. I've never known you to be this torpid. The Hoffmanns are celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary this Saturday, the 28th." Elsa's tone was light, but he could tell that she was annoyed. At the moment, however, he was more concerned about what she had said.

August 28th. It was Louisa's 14th birthday. How could he have forgotten?

"I'm sorry, Elsa, but Louisa's birthday is Saturday. I've lost track of the days here, but I must return home for her birthday." The second the words left his mouth, he realized what he had said. He had to return home.

"Are you certain, darling? The Hoffmanns will be so disappointed." It seemed to him that Elsa was the one who was disappointed. She was almost pouting.

"Yes, I'm certain. It's my daughter's birthday." He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He was not certain he had succeeded.

"You're right, of course, dear. I'll explain it to the Hoffmanns myself. They have children of their own and will understand." Elsa was all sweetness again, perhaps sensing his displeasure.

All at once, he was struck with the reality that in two days time he would be home. Only two more days and he would have to face her again.

_Blue nightgown flung to the floor. Tangled white satin sheets. Enticing, inviting curves. Quiet embrace._

"_All of my kisses are yours."_

"_I love you."_

It was too soon. He felt his anxiety level rise; his heart was already palpitating, his hands were sweating.

He had to get out of the room. Elsa would notice that something was wrong with him. He put his napkin on his plate and stood. He tried to smile, though he imagined it looked more like a grimace. His entire face felt stiff.

"Would you please excuse me, Elsa? I need to…freshen up."

"Yes, of course, darling. I'll wait for you here."

He hardly knew how, but he managed to kiss her cheek before walking out of the room.

Even though he wanted to run, he walked calmly to the first floor bathroom, silencing the clamor in his head until he was inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned back, knocking the back of his head against it until the pain forced him out of his stupor.

He walked over to the sink and ran the cold water, splashing it on his face until he felt collected enough to think. He gripped the sides of the sink as he raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror. It was time to stop hiding.

He could not disappoint Louisa. There was nothing for it; he would have to go back, even though he was nowhere close to feeling ready to return. He swore like he hadn't since his days in the navy. He swore because he had not yet figured out how to expunge Maria from his head. He swore because it seemed that everything was working against him. He swore because nothing had changed.

He swore because he could not wait to see her.

* * * * *

A/N: Just a bit of trivia – Louisa was based on the Captain's daughter, Maria Franziska von Trapp, who was born on August 28, 1914.

_I dream about reviews!_


	6. Forbidden Reality

**Chapter 6: Forbidden Reality**

Georg walked into the house, carrying his bags in and leaving them by the door. He closed the door behind him and jiggled his keys nervously, wondering where Franz was. Then he chided himself. He should not be surprised that Franz was not waiting by the door; he had sent no advance notice of his return.

Home. He looked around, expecting it to look different somehow, but everything looked the same. Had it been only two weeks since he had left? While he had been away, time had seemed to move slowly. Now that he was back, it seemed that he had only just left.

He had spent the journey battling with himself, trying to subdue or at least balance the conflicting emotions that threatened to crush him. At some point he had given up the attempt; if he had failed to achieve such a balance over the past two weeks, he knew that another few hours were not going to make a difference. He had decided to focus on Louisa instead and hope for the best. This was her birthday; that's why he was here. He had repeated the sentence over and over in his head, using it like a mantra to try to chase away Maria's image from his mind. Not once had he succeeded.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the house was quiet. Where was everyone? Had they gone out for a birthday celebration? It seemed unlikely; it was not their tradition. They normally celebrated birthdays at home, with just the family present. He walked down the front steps and was heading for the sitting room when Franz emerged from the kitchen.

"Sir? I wasn't expecting you home today. I would have prepared for your return had I known."

"It's all right, Franz. Just take my bags upstairs, would you? And tell Frau Schmidt to have my room prepared. Where are the children? I expected them to be home celebrating Louisa's birthday."

"They're in the sitting room, sir. I believe Miss Louisa is opening her presents. Frau Schmidt is to bring in the cake in another fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Franz. I'll join them there." He returned to his bags to pull out a present wrapped in green paper, tied with a white bow. He paused before making his way to join the celebration.

"Franz, is Fraulein Maria with the children?"

"Yes, sir."

Of course she would be with the children; where else would she be? He did not know what had made him ask the question. Perhaps it was a way to prepare himself before seeing her. Or maybe he had finally gone mad. If he had, it would almost be a relief.

'_It's Louisa's birthday; that's why I'm here,'_ he repeated over and over in his head as he walked to the sitting room. It still didn't work. He opened the door to the room and stepped inside.

The excited voices and laughter stopped abruptly and every head turned toward him. He made a herculean effort to focus and searched for Louisa, spotting her at once when she stood up from the sofa. She set aside the cornflower blue dress she'd been holding and walked over to him, looking surprised to see him. When she was a few steps away, she hesitated.

Had he really become so unapproachable to his own children? As much as he regretted that he had, he was filled with determination to change the fact. He held a hand out to his daughter. She responded to the invitation and rushed to embrace him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Louisa."

"I…I thought you might have forgotten." He could hear the tears in her voice. It broke his heart that she thought him capable of forgetting her birthday, as if she had expected him to forget _her_.

"How could I have forgotten?" he asked, his own voice strained with emotion. "The day you were born was one of the happiest of my life." He lifted her head up, looking into her tear-stained face. He squeezed her nose gently, wiped the tears from under her eyes, and smiled at her. "My sweet Louisa."

Her smile eased the pain in his heart. He handed her his handkerchief so that she could finish wiping her tears. He looked up then; everyone was watching them. He was drawn instantly to pair of blue eyes that were looking at him with more warmth than he had ever seen in them. Maria. He tried to quench the joy he felt at seeing her, but it was impossible. Maria.

He might have stood there for the rest of the day, content just to look at her, but Louisa had other ideas. She pulled him into the room and sat him down next to her. He greeted the other children, most of whom were sitting on the floor. He kissed Gretl, who had run over to hug him. Although he did not look at Maria, he was aware of her and watched out of the corner of his eye as she settled herself in an armchair across from him.

"I've already opened all of my presents, Father. But Frau Schmidt should be bringing in the cake soon. It's a triple chocolate cake, our favorite!" Louisa shared his sweet tooth.

"Well, you haven't opened my present, Louisa. You didn't think I had shown up empty handed, did you?" He handed her the box he was holding.

Louisa opened it with abandon, tearing the paper. He almost rolled his eyes at her undisciplined eagerness but forgave it instantly. He was almost as eager to see her reaction to the gift he had chosen for her. He had spent hours the day before searching for the perfect present, exhausting all of his connections, and he had finally found it – a pair of toe shoes autographed by Anna Pavlova. Louisa idolized the ballerina who had died just a few years earlier.

"Oh, Father…" Louisa's eyes were huge, and it seemed that she was incapable of saying anything further. She threw herself into her father's arms, still clutching the shoes. "Thank you."

Georg was saved from having to speak past the sudden thickness in his throat when Frau Schmidt arrived with the cake, capturing the children's attention.

He knew Maria was still seated in the armchair. Her presence pulled at him. He tried not to, but now that the attention was no longer on him, he could not help looking at her. His breath caught when he saw that her eyes were already on him, watching him with that same intensely warm expression. Was that warmth really for him? He hardly dared to think so, but when she dropped her gaze, a pale flush infusing her cheeks, he could almost believe that it was so.

Suddenly everything seemed so perfect. For that moment he could almost let himself believe that they were a family in reality, that she was his wife and these were their children, that this was their home. He knew he would pay a price later in the loss he would feel, but he didn't care. For now, he chose to believe that the fantasy was reality.

Maria got up to help Frau Schmidt hand out slices of cake. He watched her, all of his senses on alert, hoping to see another sign from her, but she did not look in his direction. Finally, though, she was standing in front of him, handing him a piece of cake. His eyes never left her face, but still she did not look at him. He reached for the cake.

"Captain, what's happened to your hands?" Maria exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. The wounds. He had forgotten again about the wounds in his palms.

She had used almost exactly the same words that Elsa had two days earlier, but coming from her, they sounded completely different. He could feel her concern wrap around him like a favorite blanket.

Maria put the cake down and took his hand in hers. He watched helplessly as she gently probed the skin around one of the wounds that had become inflamed. He could care less about the wound; he was too preoccupied with the fact that she had touched him for the first time of her own will, even if it was because of a wound.

For a wild moment, he let himself pretend that she was touching him for other reasons, and that she wouldn't stop. They would finish celebrating with the children, and later they would have their own private celebration behind closed doors. She would examine his body carefully for non-existent wounds, kissing them better. And he would lick her non-existent wounds until she begged for more.

"This needs to be attended to immediately, Captain. It looks like the beginning of an infection. There's a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom. I can attend to the wound if you'll come with me."

She looked at him, a question in her eyes. He looked away, knowing that the only answer she would see in his eyes was a look of unadulterated lust. He must not have looked away quickly enough, though, because he felt her hand stiffen around his before she released it, almost tearing her hand away from his.

The rush of bitter disappointment stole away the brief hope he had allowed himself to feel, shattering the fantasy. The weeks away from her had made him realize why she affected him so powerfully, why he could not control his reactions to her, why he kept imagining a life with her. He was in love with her. But even though he knew she was attracted to him, she had never shown signs that she might love him in return. For a brief, delirious moment he had thought the warmth and concern she had shown him that afternoon might be a sign of more. But no matter how much he might wish for it, he could not transform warmth and concern into something more than it was. He had let himself pretend long enough.

"Yes, of course. Children, will you excuse us for a moment? We shall return shortly." He stood and Maria led the way out of the room quickly, not looking back to see if he was following. He had to rush to keep up with her.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence. He kicked himself mentally, cursed himself for his stupidity. His idiotic fantasizing had probably ruined any chance for normalcy, but he felt compelled to try to make up for his recklessness. She deserved better. She deserved peace of mind at the very least. He did his best to clear his head.

"I don't remember there being hydrogen peroxide in the bathroom."

Maria glanced anxiously at him before replying.

"The children always seem to be scraping knees and elbows. I asked Frau Schmidt to stock all of the bathrooms with first aid supplies. I prefer to have easier access to the supplies in case they're needed. I hope you don't mind." She seemed uneasy about his reaction.

"No, not at all. I think it's a sound idea. Very practical." He was inordinately pleased at what she had done. It made it seem like she was gradually taking charge of the house. But he dampened the emotion when he realized he was once again interpreting her actions to fit his desired version of reality. He warned himself to reign in his thoughts.

"How have the children been? They seem well."

"Yes, they've been well." Maria visibly relaxed. She was always more at ease when discussing the children. "Brigitta lost a molar. She wiggled it for two days before she finally lost her patience and ripped it out."

Georg smiled at that. Brigitta had never been fearful of pulling out her teeth. She often offered to do the same for the younger girls and for Kurt, but they always refused her.

"The children have continued studying in the mornings, and we've spent most of our afternoons exploring the city, playing in the parks and on the mountain."

"Still wearing the drapes?"

Maria laughed. He was immensely delighted to have caused it.

"Yes, still wearing the drapes. They make excellent play clothes."

"And Marta, has she had any more nightmares?"

"Thankfully, no. She's slept peacefully since…since that night." Almost instantly, Maria seemed to withdraw into herself again, obviously recalling what had happened outside her door that night.

Georg was frustrated with himself. It seemed there was no way to avoid one landmine or another in any conversation with her, no matter how hard he tried. Every topic seemed to raise a memory that she apparently regretted and wanted to forget. He had tried unsuccessfully to forget those memories too, but he only regretted how those moments may have caused her anxiety. He could no longer bring himself to regret how she made him feel, even if nothing could ever come of it.

They were standing outside of the bathroom, had in fact been standing there for some time without either one registering the fact that they had arrived, until Maria finally seemed to come to herself.

"If you'll wait here, Captain, I'll get the hydrogen peroxide and a bandage." She spent only a few moments gathering the supplies and quickly emerged from the bathroom. She put them down on a table just outside the bathroom.

"Your hand, Captain." She seemed clinical, almost cold in her manner as she tended the wound, moving quickly. The peroxide stung and he winced. She must have noticed; she looked at him, an apology in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but it won't take much longer. I'll try to be gentler."

Her expression was so sincere, so open. It made him want to gather her up in his arms. But he reminded himself that she was just being kind, as she was with everyone. Still, he was drawn to the empathy he felt from her. He had no defense against it.

"No one could be gentler or more capable than you. Don't worry about me. I couldn't be in better hands." The words spilled out of him before he had thought them through. He should not have said them; there was too much truth in them.

"I…" Maria seemed undecided as to how to respond. The words seemed to mean something to her as well. She looked confused, almost vulnerable. "I would never hurt you, not if I can help it." Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes. She went back to treating the wound.

He was afraid to move, even to breathe. After having just convinced himself that she did not feel as he did, he was afraid of doing anything that might sever the gossamer strand he now felt connecting them, of doing anything that might jeopardize the tenuous possibility that she might feel more than warmth and concern.

She no longer seemed clinical or cold. Her touch was light, slow and tender. Even the way she supported his hand felt warmer. He could almost believe that she cared for him. He was probably reading too much into her touch, into her words, but the way she had looked at him…

What if it was real? Why couldn't the fantasy be a reality?

He was in danger and he knew it. He should just back away from her now and finish treating the wound himself. He could feel the attraction pulling at him, even more powerfully than before because he felt so much more, wanted so much more with her.

It would be madness to keep falling into the same quagmire over and over again. It would be madness to give in to his feelings and reach out to her again when he had no right, when it only seemed to distress her. But he was tired of dreaming and pretending, and there she was standing in front of him, feeling something for him. He didn't know what she felt, but it was _something_.

She stood close enough for him to breathe in the scent of her hair. He remembered how soft it felt. He wanted to run his hands through it, tilt her head back, bring her face to his. He wanted it all to be real.

She finished treating the wound and bandaged it. Did her hand linger on his after she secured the bandage or was he just imagining it? He really feared he was going insane. He had to back away.

"It should be fine now," she said, keeping her head down. "Just remember to keep it clean and to change the bandage once a day, more often if it gets wet."

She let go of his hand and took a step back from him, and he knew the time had come to stop this insanity. He had to walk away, in every way.

He could not do it. He took a step toward her, unable to endure even the slight separation between them, incapable of breaking the connection he felt. He could not let her go. She looked up, startled.

"Captain, what are you…"

"I've missed you." He had not known that he would say those words until they came out of his mouth. But he could not have stopped them if he'd tried.

Maria looked stunned, as though she had not expected to hear what he had said.

"Captain…"

He touched his fingers to her mouth, stopping her words. He stared at her lips and thought of the many times he had already kissed them in his dreams. He wanted to know them now in reality, but not yet, not yet. He had more to say first, more to savor.

He combed his fingers through her hair, luxuriating in its softness, tucking it behind her ear. Her lashes fluttered and she went utterly still, as if she was holding her breath. He held her with his eyes.

"Every moment of every day, I've missed you." He could not hold back the words. They came out in a rasp; they felt coarse on his tongue. The words refused to remain unspoken. And his hands refused to remain still.

He drew his fingers lightly down the side of her neck and felt her pulse racing. His own pulse jumped, more than matching hers. He stroked the side of her neck until he felt her shiver. Her eyes were darkening, heating up. The mounting passion he saw in them made his heart skip a beat before it resumed slamming against his chest.

It was the same as it always was with her, like a furnace igniting in him, an explosion of heat, flames flickering all over his skin until they burned inside him and reached for her.

Why couldn't it all be real? Why not? He wanted it so badly, wanted _her_ so badly he could taste it.

"I thought of you every day and dreamed of you every night." His voice was hoarse, the flames drying out his throat and leaving him parched for her. When she closed her eyes and gripped the table, her knuckles white, he felt the flames burn hotter.

He brushed the hair from her forehead and leaned down to drag his lips across it, all the while stroking her neck, his fingers following her collarbone down to the hollow of her throat. He kissed her temple, her cheek. When he kissed her behind her ear, he opened his mouth to taste her for the first time. The sound of her moan nearly undid him. He could feel the hot breath from her mouth on his neck. His own breath was labored, loud in his own ears. The flames were rising, threatening to consume him.

He stepped closer to her and let his hands feel their way around her shoulders and slowly down her spine, wanting to discover every intimate curve of her back. Each sound she uttered, the way she arched toward him as his hands moved toward her lower back stoked the fire even more and he was lost, unable to think anymore, just filled with want and need and insatiable hunger.

She was trembling now and all he wanted was to feel her trembling against his body. He started pulling her toward him, closer, closer, when suddenly through the haze of passion he felt her hands on his chest, pushing against him.

"Don't." She said it so softly it was barely audible, but to him it was like a scream. He stopped pulling her toward him and dropped his arms. He felt dazed, mangled, ripped apart.

He looked into her eyes and saw desire. And he saw agony.

"I can't do this." She moved out of his embrace and backed away from him, shaking her head. "I can't do this." She fled upstairs.

* * * * *

_Where are you going?_

_She fades, slips from his fingers._

_So cold, cold as ice. _

_His hands are empty._

_She's gone._

* * * * *

A/N: I know it looks bad right now, but trust me, it will all work out in the end!

_Is there anyone who doesn't know by now that I love reviews?_ :)


	7. Forbidden Turnabout

**Chapter 7: Forbidden Turnabout**

A/N: This one was a bit of a struggle and turned out differently than I'd originally planned. I can only hope that it makes sense.

A quick note for those who have reviewed anonymously – I haven't had the means to reply, but I appreciate every comment. And to be perfectly honest, I'm just grateful to everyone who is still reading the story. Thank you.

* * * * *

"And he turned left when I pulled on the reins! Did you see it, Father? He did what I wanted!"

"I saw it all, Friedrich, and I'm quite proud of you. You did well."

Georg grinned at Friedrich's obvious joy and clapped him on the shoulder as they walked through the front door of the house. He had taken Friedrich on his first horseback riding lesson, and the boy had been talking nonstop ever since. It had been a long time since he had felt so close to his son.

After Louisa's reaction to his arrival at her birthday celebration, he had decided to begin spending time individually with each of the children. He wanted to rebuild the relationships he had neglected for far too long. He planned to keep one of the children with him when the rest of the family went on their daily afternoon outings. He had started with Friedrich, but had spoken with all of the children to reassure them that they would each have a turn. Their immediate acceptance of and eagerness for the idea had convinced him that it was a good one.

The hardest part had been approaching Maria to tell her of his plans. He had presented the idea to her after lunch the day before, with the children still present. She had listened to him in silence, then agreed with his plans. He had sensed her approval and had been grateful for that, at least. They had not spoken in three days, with the sole exception of that one conversation, if it could be called that.

After she had literally fled from him the day of Louisa's birthday, he had gone back to the celebration and told the children that Maria had not been feeling well and had gone upstairs to rest. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had forced himself to lock away all of his feelings for the sake of the children. Those feelings had been carving a hole in him ever since.

He had not known what to expect from her after that afternoon. He had thought she might just leave and had been relieved to see her that next morning at breakfast. But she was remote, withdrawn. In no way did she engage him, not a word, not a glance. Her focus was completely on the children.

He kept his distance, unwilling to cause her any more suffering. He had done enough of that. He saw her only at meals. He would have apologized to her, but it was obvious she did not want to discuss what had happened, that she wanted nothing more to do with him. He had gone too far, had assumed too much.

He felt the hole inside him growing by the day. Nothing filled it. He stayed as busy as possible. He occupied his mind with correspondence, studying the news, attending meetings; he occupied himself with whatever he could think of. The emptiness was always there. There was only one thing, one person, that could fill it. And she never would.

He wondered if he was a glutton for punishment, continuing to endure things as they were. He could choose to leave again, but he did not want to leave the children. He could send Maria back to the abbey. It would relieve her of her duty, which he knew she took very seriously. But when it came down to it, he would rather be miserable with her nearby where he could at least see her every day than be miserable without her.

He had made one other decision. Regardless of the fact that a life with Maria was impossible, he could not marry Elsa. It would be unfair to her as well as to him to continue what had become a charade, a lie, at least for him. She would not appreciate an unannounced visit, so he had sent word that he would be arriving within the week for a brief visit, with no plans to stay overnight. He needed to break things off with her in person.

"Go on upstairs. You have just enough time to wash up before supper."

"All right, Father." Friedrich started up the stairs, then stopped and turned back.

"Father?"

"Yes, Friedrich?"

"Thank you." He grinned and then ran up the stairs.

Georg coughed to ease the pressure in his throat and wondered when he had become so emotional, but he supposed he already knew the answer to that.

He went upstairs to prepare for supper.

* * * * *

"For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful."

Georg felt like a fool, but he could not help it. He looked forward to grace at every meal not because he was grateful for the food, though he was grateful, but because it was one of the few times he knew he would hear the sound of Maria's voice.

Since he had returned, the children spoke more at meals, apparently having gotten used to doing so in his absence. However, their chatter had begun to taper off more and more with each meal. Both he and Maria were subdued, and the children had picked up on the increased tension. This evening they ate in relative silence. He felt badly about that, as though he had unwittingly taken something away from them.

He swallowed a few spoonfuls of beef stew before allowing himself a furtive glance at Maria. He had been careful to not let the weight of his stare disturb her at meals, but he could not resist her completely. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She must not be sleeping well. He hoped she did not feel ill. She looked exhausted, tense, pained.

She looked beautiful. She took his breath away.

He sighed heavily and went back to his food.

Thirty minutes and five glances later, the meal was over. The children asked to be excused, Liesl leading the way as usual. He acceded, and they were quick to push away from the table. He stood, knowing that Maria would be right behind them. He could always sense when she was about to pass by him and would allow himself a final glance. It was the closest he could get to her.

He waited, but he did not sense her presence. He looked up. She was standing by her chair. She took a breath and looked at him. He waited for her to speak; he was not altogether certain he could have uttered a sound.

"Captain, I'd like to ask your permission to have tomorrow morning free. I need to visit the abbey."

He stared at her for a moment longer, not registering her words at first. Seeing her standing by her chair had surfaced other thoughts. There were too many memories in this room, memories of heated looks and first touches and a longing for more. She shifted her weight and her cheeks flushed, but she did not drop her eyes from his.

"Captain? About tomorrow morning?"

She wanted to visit the abbey. Why did she want to visit the abbey?

"Yes, of course you may have the morning off." She had never asked for anything for herself. He wanted to ask her reasons for the visit but he did not want to pressure her. He was also afraid of what the answer might be.

"Thank you, Captain." She pushed away from her chair and began to make her way across the room.

This was the first time that they had been alone since Louisa's birthday. It might be the only opportunity he would have to apologize to her.

"Maria…"

She stopped walking, visibly tensing at the sound of his voice.

What could he say? That his feelings had overpowered his judgment? That he found her irresistible? That he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go? That he was in love with her? He remembered how she had stopped him with a word. He remembered the agony in her eyes. He could not say any of what he really wanted to say.

"I'm sorry." It was inadequate and incomplete and not even close to expressing everything he felt, but it was all he could say.

For a moment it looked as if she was going to say something, but she didn't. Instead, she nodded slightly in his direction and left.

The room suddenly felt empty without her in it. He wished that her leaving had not felt so much like a goodbye.

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, heading for the den. He slammed the door behind him and paced the length of the room.

She was leaving. He was sure of it. She was going to the Abbess to request that she be relieved of her task, of her assignment as governess. She would return tomorrow afternoon or evening and pack her bags and go.

The children would miss her desperately. They had not responded to any other governess as they had to her. She had brought them joy and fun and wisdom and music. She had been exactly the right person to enter their lives, and it was clear that they loved her.

He remembered when she had promised Marta that she would remain a part of her life. He believed she would find a way, that she would not allow any of the children to feel abandoned.

But as for him…

He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He gulped it down, welcoming the way it burned down his throat, trying to calm the rising sense of panic he felt. Because he knew that once she left, he would never see her again. She would not look for a way to remain in his life. She would stay as far away from him as she could, and he would not be able to look at her, talk to her, care for her, love her. He could never love her.

He was clenching his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt. He tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand and threw it against the wall. It shattered, the shards of glass scattering across the floor. He stared at the broken pieces. It was all broken. He was broken.

The knock on the door stopped his slide into the melancholic pit that was pulling at him. What was he doing?

"Come in."

Frau Schmidt entered the room cautiously, looking around and spotting the broken glass on the floor.

"Sir? I heard a noise. Do you need assistance?" She might be curious, but she was well trained, professional. She would ask no questions.

"Would you please pick up the glass? There was an accident."

"Certainly, sir." She was already walking toward the glass. She knelt and began gathering the pieces of glass into her apron.

Georg was ashamed of his behavior. He hardly recognized himself. He went to the window and stared at the shadows outside. The wind picked up fallen leaves and blew them haphazardly across the lawn. He watched the leaves; he mused that they were at the mercy of powers beyond their control.

For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of someone, a person with blond hair. When he did not see it again, he decided that it must have been his imagination, only in his mind. Just as so many things had been only in his mind. He turned away from the window, deciding to make himself useful and help Frau Schmidt with the glass.

It happened so quickly. One second Frau Schmidt was picking up the glass, the next she was off balance and falling forward into it. She held out an arm to break her fall. Her shriek of pain tore through him, and then he was by her side without knowing how he had gotten there.

He moved her gently, visually examining her right arm. There were several pieces of glass embedded in her forearm; blood was rapidly staining her sleeve. He was careful not to touch the glass.

"Father? I thought I heard a scream. Frau Schmidt?"

It was Liesl. He did not know why she was not upstairs, but he had no time to think about that. He was grateful to see her; he needed help.

"Liesl. I need you to tell Franz to send for a doctor immediately. Frau Schmidt has been injured."

Liesl eyes were wide, afraid; she was staring at Frau Schmidt's bloody arm.

"Liesl! Look at me." His commanding tone drew her attention to him. "Tell Franz to send for a doctor immediately. And find Fraulein Maria. Tell her to bring bandages. Can you do that, Liesl?" She nodded and ran out of the room.

"You're going to be fine. Help will be here soon." He did his best to reassure Frau Schmidt. She was in obvious pain, but she was calm. She was a strong woman, not one to panic. He was concerned about the pain and blood loss, but he was certain that the glass had not penetrated through to the main artery. There was enough blood that it was all over his hands and sleeves, but he had seen the way wounds bled when the artery had been severed. He knew that Frau Schmidt was not in danger of bleeding to death.

Moments later, Maria entered the room, her arms filled with bandages and other supplies. She stopped short and her face paled when she saw him. Then she rushed to him, dropping to her knees beside him.

"You're injured." She was looking at the blood on his hands and sleeves, at his face. He had never seen her look so agitated.

"No, not me. Frau Schmidt has pieces of glass embedded in her arm. The blood is hers."

Some of the color returned to her face and she looked toward Frau Schmidt. She put down the supplies she had brought, organizing them on a cloth she placed on the floor. Her eyes, however, did not leave him for long. If he'd had time to think about it, he would have wondered at her reaction. But he did not want to waste precious seconds; Frau Schmidt was wounded and needed attention. He turned to the housekeeper.

"I don't know how long it will be before the doctor arrives. The glass is not deep. I can remove it, stop the bleeding and bandage the wounds. Stitches may be required; the doctor will decide when he has examined you." He spoke softly, calmly.

"I trust you to do what's best, sir."

He looked to Maria and she nodded, not needing him to ask if she would assist. She was ready. He had known he could count on her fortitude. They worked together quickly and seamlessly. It was not long before Frau Schmidt was bandaged and ready to be moved. Franz helped Georg support her as they walked her to her room, deciding it would be best to wait there for the doctor's arrival. They settled her in the bed and dimmed the lights so that she could rest more comfortably.

Maria went to the kitchen to prepare a medicinal tea that would help calm Frau Schmidt's nerves and reduce the pain. She wasted no time and was back quickly, serving the tea and then retreating to the foot of the bed.

Georg sat by the bed as Frau Schmidt drank her tea. Now that the danger was past, he was filled with remorse.

"Can you ever forgive me, Frau Schmidt? If I hadn't broken the glass…"

"There is no one to blame, sir. It was an accident."

"But it was my fault that the glass was broken."

"Sir, was it your intention to hurt me?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"Then I don't see the need for an apology. In fact, I want to thank you for taking such good care of me. You too, Fraulein Maria. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm feeling rather tired and I just need to rest my eyes."

What had he ever done to deserve so much leniency and kindness? He knew a blessing when he saw one.

"Frau Schmidt, have I ever told you how remarkable you are?"

"Not often enough, sir." She smiled at him warmly before closing her eyes and falling asleep, the events of the evening finally catching up with her. She really was quite remarkable, he thought.

He looked toward the foot of the bed where Maria was standing, watching him. The same thoughts returned to his mind – she really was quite remarkable, and he knew a blessing when he saw one. He rose quietly from his chair and walked to her.

"I'll stay with her until the doctor arrives. It's getting late; you should get some sleep. Thank you for your help tonight. It was…you were…thank you." It had felt so right having her by his side in a crisis, working in tandem with her, knowing he could count on her. He was stumbling over his words now because he could not separate his gratitude from the rest of his feelings for her.

She said nothing in response. She just looked at him with an expression he did not recognize. Then she reached out to pull one of his arms toward her, holding him by the wrist.

"I'm afraid your shirt is ruined, Captain. These stains will never come out."

He was frozen in place. His mind was screaming at him. What was she doing? She could not possibly be concerned about a shirt. He did not understand, could not make sense of it.

"You are quite certain that you were not injured in the slightest? Have you examined your arms?"

"No, I haven't, but I…"

The words dried up in his mouth when she pushed up his sleeve and brought her fingers to his forearm, probing for cuts or perhaps tiny bits of glass. He tried to breathe in deeply to steady himself but found that he could not catch his breath. He told himself not to let his thoughts get away from him as they always did. He told himself that it was in her nature to be concerned about everyone, that of course she would want to be sure that he was uninjured. He told himself that her touch was nothing more than analytical.

But her touches were sending a current through him, electrifying every part of his body. He gritted his teeth and fought against the almost instantaneous attraction and arousal she was triggering. He would not make the same mistake yet again. He used every ounce of self-control to keep himself from putting his arms around her and crushing her to him. If she did not stop touching him like that…

"No, I don't see any wounds." She pulled his sleeve down and looked up at him again. "I was worried that you might be concealing your own wounds."

He supposed he was, but the wounds he was concealing were not physical. And they were not all he was trying to conceal. He took a few breaths before he felt able to speak.

"No, I wasn't hurt in the accident. There's no need for you to worry, but thank you."

"Well, then."

Still she did not move away from him, and she had not released his wrist. He wondered if she was even aware of it, of what she was doing to him. He did not think he could withstand this closeness for much longer before doing something he shouldn't. He met her indecipherable gaze and waited, for what he did not know. He wished he could read her mind.

"You're a good man, Captain, one of the best I've ever known." Even with the dim lighting he could see the color rushing to her cheeks, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, almost inviting him to…

His heart was beating wildly, and every part of his body felt alive and aware of her. Still he restrained himself, not letting himself take control, not letting himself push her further. It always ended badly when he did. When she stepped away, he let her go, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"You will let me know if you need me for anything?" she asked, her eyes still staring into his.

If he needed her…could she not see that he always needed her, that he needed her right now? But he did not know what she was thinking, what she meant by her actions. If it was an expression of warmth and respect or the confused aftereffects of adrenalin, he did not want to ruin it with unrestrained passion. He would not let himself think of other possibilities; he had done too much of that already. He could manage the ache he felt for her; it was more important that he not cause her any more distress.

"I'm sure Frau Schmidt will be fine, and the doctor will probably be here soon," he said, even though every fiber of his being wanted her to stay.

"All right. Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Maria."

After one more look, she finally turned away from him and left the room.

He made his way back to Frau Schmidt and sagged into the chair. He had no idea what to think; he did not trust himself to interpret her behavior. This might have been her final evening in the house. Now more than ever, he could not imagine how, in a house filled with people, he would be able to endure the emptiness when she was gone.

She had been so different with him. He tried to crush it before it started, but already he could feel it growing inside him, beginning to fill the hole.

Hope.

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_You know how reviews make my day!_ :)


	8. Forbidden Hope

**Chapter 8: Forbidden Hope**

A/N: I found this chapter to be particularly angsty; it was hard to write. But if you manage to get through this one, the next chapter promises to be **MUCH** more pleasant.

* * * * *

Georg dressed quickly. The children would be going downstairs soon, expecting breakfast to be served as usual. He wanted to explain to them what had happened to Frau Schmidt and reassure them that she would be fine.

He had spent most of the night waiting for the doctor to arrive. He had not wanted to fall asleep in case Frau Schmidt woke up and needed something. Fortunately, her injuries had not appeared to disturb her sleep. He, on the other hand, had not slept at all, but he counted it a small price to pay for having played a part in the accident. Even though Frau Schmidt clearly did not blame him, he was not quite ready to forgive himself.

Once Doctor Hecht had finally arrived, he had examined Frau Schmidt and determined that there was no need for stitches, much to Georg's relief. The news had allowed him to relax for the first time all night. He would have tried to get some rest after that, but by the time the doctor left, the sun had already risen. He'd had just enough time for a quick shower. He would need to go downstairs soon to meet with the children.

He checked himself in the mirror over the dresser. He looked scruffy, unkempt. There had not been time to shave. At least he was clean; he was glad to be rid of the blood stains.

The thought reminded him of the blood-stained clothes he had left in the bathroom. He was not sure what to do about them. Maria had said that they were ruined, that the stains would not come out. If they were unsalvageable, he should probably just throw them away. He could see them through the open door of the bathroom, hanging on a hook.

The images and memories came unbidden into his mind – Maria standing close to him, pushing his sleeve up, the fabric tickling his skin; the feel of her hands on him, their heat penetrating his initial shock and flooding him with white-hot desire; the way she had held his wrist long after she could have let go; the look in her eyes and the swipe of her tongue.

Later. He would throw them away later.

* * * * *

"Are you sure she's going to be all right?"

"Why can't we go in and see her?"

"When will she be better?"

"Who's going to clean the house?"

"Who's going to cook our meals?"

"If you keep talking over each other, I won't be able to hear your questions."

He had waited for the children just outside the dining room, which was not set up for breakfast; they would be eating in the kitchen this morning. He had told them about the accident, speaking succinctly and matter-of-factly, downplaying the injuries. Even so, the children were overly excited after having heard the news about Frau Schmidt. It was understandable; they had known her all of their lives and were naturally concerned.

"As I explained to you, her injuries are minor and the doctor has already been to see her. She will need to rest for a day or two at the most, but then she should be able to resume her duties. Franz will help with some of what needs to be done while she is indisposed and the rest of us will have to make do. Knowing Frau Schmidt, I imagine she will be up and about by tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I'm counting on all of you to make sure she is not disturbed. Are we all clear on this?"

"Yes, Father." Liesl spoke for all of them; the others were nodding their heads solemnly. They looked so serious now; he hoped he had not scared them. Perhaps it would be best to let them see her sooner rather than later.

"After breakfast, I will check on her. If she is awake and feels up to a visit, you will be able to see her sometime this morning."

The children brightened at that and resumed their chatter, already planning to make a get well card in the brief time they would have after breakfast.

"Fraulein Maria! You'll help us, won't you? You're so good at making things."

Georg turned to look in the direction that Kurt was facing. Maria had just finished descending the stairs and was walking toward them. She was dressed to go out, wearing a light coat.

His heart sank. Somehow it had slipped his mind that Maria would not be here this morning, that she was leaving to visit the abbey. How could he have forgotten?

"Help with what, Kurt?" Maria asked as she approached.

"We're making a get well card for Frau Schmidt. We need to finish it as quickly as possible so that we can give it to her when we visit her after breakfast."

Maria ruffled Kurt's hair. It was a simple gesture, but it tugged at Georg's heart. It seemed immeasurably affectionate.

"That's a marvelous idea. I'm certain it will cheer her up. But I won't be able to help you. I'm sorry, but I need to go to the abbey this morning. I know you will do a wonderful job on your own; you're all so talented and capable."

Georg could see that she meant every word. She never misled the children or gave them false praise. They were blossoming under her care. He saw it in the way that they did not lose their enthusiasm for their idea, even though they were disappointed that she would not be there to help them.

He had been on the point of despair only a few hours ago, but it seemed like so much had happened in the short time since then. He thought he had seen something in her, the hint of a deeper feeling for him beyond the physical attraction he knew she felt. Or so he hoped. Aside from worrying about Frau Schmidt, he had thought of little else all night. But here she was, ready to leave, and for all he knew she would not be coming back. He could so easily be deluding himself, believing only what he wanted to believe. He needed to know what was real, to know if he had reason to hope.

"All right, children, breakfast is in the kitchen. Go on, Franz should be waiting for you there. I'll join you in a moment." After a chorus of 'good-byes' and 'see you laters', they were alone, and there was no one left to look at but each other.

With the absence of the children, the buffer between them was gone. He felt the change in the atmosphere instantly, more quickly than he ever had before, even stronger now after the way she had behaved toward him last night.

His intention had been to talk to her, to try to discover more of what she was thinking and feeling. But the thoughts flew from his head as they stood there looking at each other. What was this power she had over him, that one direct look from her could so easily reduce him to a solid mass of aching want?

He felt the cresting waves of longing surge through him violently, even more so because he could sense the same waves rolling off of her. He read it in the tension in her body, heard it in the sound of her quickening breath, saw it in the fever in her eyes. He knew that if he felt for it, her heartbeat would be hammering as hard and fast as his was. And he wanted to feel for it everywhere it pulsed in her body. He surrendered to it without thinking. He was already moving toward her before her voice stopped him.

"I was in to see Frau Schmidt this morning. She's understandably tired, but she seems to be doing well." Her voice was higher than normal, her words rushed. Her obvious battle with her own feelings gave him pause, made him question himself. He answered her almost automatically, most of his mind still wrapped up in her.

"Yes, she's going to be fine. She didn't need stitches and just needs a bit of rest."

The silence that followed their brief exchange was awkward. He had been thrown off balance and was still reaching blindly, trying to recapture the strands of the thoughts that had so rapidly fled from his mind. She caught him off guard yet again when she spoke before he had been able to gather himself.

"I should be going. It's a long journey."

Was she leaving already? She had only just come downstairs; he had only just seen her. He had not had a chance to talk to her.

"Won't you eat something before you leave? As you said, it's a long journey." He grasped at something, anything, to delay her. She was proceeding so quickly, his mind could scarcely keep up with her.

"Thank you, but no, I'm not hungry. I'll eat something at the abbey. I should go."

She had already turned and started walking. He stepped quickly to her side.

"I'll walk you to the door."

The simple act of moving his body jump-started his brain and he was able to think again. She seemed so eager and determined to leave. He had wanted to know if he had reason to hope; perhaps she was giving him his answer. If she was, he was not ready to accept it yet. If he could only find the right words to talk to her.

"I wanted to thank you again for your assistance yesterday. Your help was invaluable."

"It was your skill and knowledge that made the difference, Captain. But I'm grateful I was able to help."

They were almost at the door. He was rapidly running out of time and opportunity. He steeled himself and forged ahead. He needed to know what was real.

"And afterwards, in Frau Schmidt's room, when you…ascertained that I was not injured. I…I appreciated how you showed your concern." He was trying to be careful with his words, because he was so uncertain about what had or had not happened, uncertain about what she had thought and felt.

They had reached the door. Her steps slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether. He saw the slight turn of her head, the glance down at his hands and arms, and when she blushed he knew she was thinking about when she had touched him. He wanted her to do it again. He wanted her to reach out to him, to want to be with him. He waited for her to respond, hoping. When she finally looked up at him and saw him watching her so intently, the color in her cheeks deepened. His eyes locked on hers, refusing to let her look away.

"Last night, I…" She sounded out of breath.

"Yes? Last night you…" he prodded when she stopped, burning to know what she was going to say. But she just shook her head and he knew she was not going to continue.

"Maria…"

"I really must be going."

"What time will you be back?" He tried not to feel defeated, but it was a losing battle. She regretted what had happened. Or she regretted that he had obviously misinterpreted it. Now his only hope was for her return.

"I'm not sure. When I've finished at the abbey."

What if she was never finished at the abbey? What would he do then?

"Good-bye, Captain." She paused a moment, perhaps waiting for his parting words. He could not bring himself to say them.

He watched her leave in silence, wondering if he would ever see her again.

* * * * *

That day was one of the longest of his life. The hours had seemed to drag by. After checking on Frau Schmidt after breakfast, he had allowed the children to visit with her, but not for too long. Although he knew that she enjoyed their company, as evidenced by her extolling the magnificence of the card they had made for her, he had called them out of the room before they could exhaust her with their sincere but overly solicitous attentions. It had been enough time, however, to appease them.

He had spent the rest of the morning in the living room with the children, having given each of them independent study and reading assignments. He had tried to read the newspaper and catch up on correspondence, but he could not concentrate on anything. He kept listening for the door, waiting for the sound of Maria's return.

By the middle of the afternoon, when he and the children had returned to the house after a lengthy hike along the grounds of the estate, only to find that she had still not returned, he began to worry in earnest. What if she really did not come back? She could arrange for her few belongings to be sent to her at the abbey, assuming she even wanted them. But before the thought could throw him into a downward spiral, he reconsidered. Surely she would not leave the children like that, not after the way she had left them so casually this morning. No, he was convinced that if she left, she would do her best not to hurt the children.

Still, when Gretl turned to him to say that she was enjoying the day but that things were just not the same without Fraulein Maria, he had found it difficult to reply. He felt her absence deeply; nothing was the same without her.

After a well-intentioned yet uninspired supper of potato soup, the children had gone upstairs, disappointed in the meal and in the fact that their governess had not yet returned. He told them that she would most likely return after they had gone to bed and that they would see her in the morning. He could only hope that it was the truth.

He was by himself now and feeling restless. He wandered through the house for a time, but left to his own devices, he found himself visiting the rooms where he could feel Maria, the places where he had been close to her. He relived every heated look, every touch, every tremor, every moan, every _what almost was_.

It was not until he found himself in front of Frau Schmidt's door that he realized how he was punishing himself – for pushing too hard, for hoping too much, for wanting what was not his. It was almost masochistic, what he was doing. He had to break free from it or it would hurl him into a depression he had only experienced once before. He did not want to repeat that experience, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the children. He was not the same man he had been; he could not make the same choices.

He decided he might as well visit Frau Schmidt. It would help to think about someone else. He knocked on the door and entered at her invitation.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"No, Captain. Frankly, I'm a bit bored and tired of just lying here uselessly and reading. I welcome the company. Please come in."

He closed the door behind him and sat in the chair by her bed. He looked at her with an appraising eye and was pleased to note that she seemed stronger, less pale, more rested.

"You're looking better. I believe the rest has done you good."

"Well it certainly wasn't the potato soup. I know Franz is an excellent butler, but he will never win any cooking competitions."

He smiled at the sparkle in her eyes. He had made the right decision to visit her; her good humor was already having an effect.

"You can rest assured that I'll be back to work tomorrow morning. I can't have the family starving to death, can I?"

"There's no need to return to duty too soon. You should take your time, make sure you've recovered enough. We can manage in the meantime."

"I'm quite well enough, sir. But thank you for the kindness of the offer."

He smiled and fell silent, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were drawn to the foot of the bed. He could almost see Maria still standing there, watching him, waiting for him to walk over to her. But of course, she was not there. A wave of sadness washed over him, drowning the bit of relief he had begun to feel.

"Sir? Are you well?"

He tried to shake free from the sadness. He was supposed to be here making Frau Schmidt feel better, not brooding to the point where she became concerned for him.

"Yes, I'm fine." He looked back at her and tried to muster a smile but failed.

She studied his face so intently that he felt exposed. He looked down at his hands, trying to escape her piercing gaze.

"Captain, I've worked in this house for many years. I've seen you through the happiest of times as well as some of the most tragic. I am loyal to this family and I care deeply for all of you. Please forgive my impertinence, but I can see that you are not fine, that you have not been fine for some time. If there were ever anything you would wish to discuss in confidence, I want you to know that I would do my best to help you."

He looked up at her, startled. What had she noticed? What did she know?

"I'm not sure what you mean." His first instinct was to be evasive.

"It's about Fraulein Maria, isn't it, sir?" Her voice was gentle, a mother's caring, loving voice. The sound of it was comforting, disarming.

He closed his eyes and felt the weight of his burden. He had been carrying it alone for so long. If he could unload just a bit of it, if there was anyone he could trust with it…

"Yes, it's about Fraulein Maria." He could hardly believe he had decided to confide in her. But he trusted in her discretion and in her kindness. And the burden had become so heavy.

"I can't stop thinking about her. She's always there, everywhere I look. Even when I close my eyes, she's there. I've tried so hard to get her out of my head. But I can't do it. I kept my distance from her, I tried to stay away from her, but every attempt was futile. It only made things worse. This thing just keeps growing stronger. It makes me want her in my life. And it makes me want…so many other things."

The words spilled from him so easily. Once he started, he found that he could not stop, did not want to stop.

"The more I see her with the children…she'd be a wonderful mother to them. They already love her. And she's kindhearted and good and gentle and strong, courageous and beautiful and full of life. Sometimes I think she cares for me, but she always pulls away from me. I've made a mess of everything. I've pushed her too hard. She's so inexperienced, innocent even. I've just confused her, made her question herself, muddled her thoughts until she couldn't possibly know what to think or feel. I've ruined everything. "

Frau Schmidt listened in silence, letting him speak freely until he ran out of words. Then she spoke.

"I suspected it was something like that. You have an air of suffering about you. But I see it in her as well. I'm not convinced you're seeing her clearly, Captain. One would have to be blind not to have noticed the tension between the two of you. It's there, in _both_ of you. And I saw the way she looked at you when she thought you were injured. Believe me, sir, she cares." She paused before continuing, apparently deciding on what to say next.

"But have you considered her perspective? She has her life planned. She's preparing to serve the Lord as a nun. She may not have professed her final vows yet, but she made a commitment. Do you suppose it would be so easy for her to turn her back on that commitment?"

"I've considered that, of course. It's one of the reasons I tried to stay away from her. I didn't want to interfere with her life, with the decisions she had made. But if she cared for me…"

"Forgive me, Captain, but there's much more to consider. Have you never thought that your relationship with Baroness Schraeder might be a barrier for her? That she could never bring herself to be involved with a man while he was still attached to someone else? You've just spent two weeks with the Baroness. Did you never consider how that would speak of a level of commitment that Fraulein Maria could not ignore?"

"But that relationship is over. It ended for me the day Maria entered this house, even though I didn't know it at the time. The Baroness and I were never officially engaged, and now we never will be. I've already sent word to her that I'll be visiting later this week. I'm going to tell her then, that we have no future together. She's been wonderful, but I've never cared for her the way that I…"

He was suddenly afraid to complete the sentence, to say the words aloud. Saying things out loud somehow made them seem more real. And he was afraid that his reality would never fit Maria's. He was not sure he wanted to face that, not yet. He surprised himself by realizing that he still had some small modicum of hope left. But Frau Schmidt would not let it go.

"What were you going to say, sir? Please say it. You need to say it."

What was the use of denying the truth? He was tired of fighting it when he was powerless against it, and denying it would not make it any less true.

"I never cared for her the way that I care for Maria. The way I love Maria."

Admitting it left him feeling raw, vulnerable. He had known it would. Once spoken aloud, he could no longer continue trying to bury those feelings.

"And Fraulein Maria knows this? She knows that you love her? She knows that you are ending your relationship with the Baroness?"

"No, of course not. How could I have told her all of that, when I know I've been the cause of the agony I see in her eyes, when most of the time I make her uncomfortable, when she feels like she has to pull away from me?"

"How could you expect her to do anything else if she doesn't know the truth?"

Her words struck him like a physical blow. How could he have expected her to do anything else? He always lost control with her, his volcanic passion erupting because of how hard he tried to suppress it. But that had backfired; it had only made his desire for her grow stronger under the added pressure. The only time he hadn't lost control, that he hadn't pushed her, had been yesterday, and it had been the one time she had not pulled away.

"Please take my advice, Captain. Talk to her. Be honest with her. And let her make a decision based on the truth."

He could lose her if he did that. If she did not feel the same way he did, she would leave. How could she stay then, knowing how he really felt? If he could find a way to contain his feelings, she might stay, at least as the children's governess. But even as he thought it, he knew it would never be enough. It would be too hard having her living under his roof, all the while wanting it to be more. Sooner or later, it would become impossible to bear. And he would still lose her.

"I will think about what you've said." He stood to leave. "I've taken up enough of your time. But I want to thank you. You've done more than I could have expected or asked for."

"Captain, I only want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy."

The words resounded in his ears as he closed the door to her room until another sound replaced it; the opening and closing of the front door. The sound triggered so many contradictory feelings in him – relief, joy, anxiety, apprehension – that he nearly staggered.

Maria had returned.

* * * * *

_I hope, as always, for your reviews._


	9. Forbidden No More

**Chapter 9: Forbidden No More**

A/N: Here's the final chapter, which makes the story exactly 6 chapters longer than I thought it would be. I'm not really sure how that happened. :) I suppose there are quite a few things that are still forbidden for these two, but maybe someone else can write about those. ;)

¡Un millón de gracias a todos! Thanks a million!

* * * * *

Maria had her back against the front door; her eyes were closed. Georg had started to walk toward her when he heard her come in, but seeing her leaning against the door made him hesitate. He almost felt like he was intruding. He was sure she had no idea anyone was watching her. What was she thinking? Was she relieved to be back, or was she dreading facing him? Was she even thinking about him at all? Did she care for him as Frau Schmidt said she did?

_Talk to her. Be honest with her._

He knew Frau Schmidt was right. He recognized the wisdom of her words. He would never know the answers to those questions, or any of his questions and doubts, if he was not honest with Maria. But knowing and doing were two different things. Once done, there would be no turning back.

He imagined how his life would change if she left. Given time, he would learn to accept it, to adjust to her absence. He would continue improving and deepening his relationship with his children. He would appreciate the people in his life. He would remain firm in his beliefs and act in the best interest of his family and his country. He would be fine.

But he would never be completely happy. He would not be able to make _her_ happy. They would never be partners, companions, one body. They would not raise a family together. He would always, always miss her. He would always wonder where she was, what she was doing, if she was safe. He would always wonder what might have been.

If there was really a chance that she felt the same, wasn't it worth the risk? Wasn't _she_ worth the risk? He had risked everything for his country in the war. If called upon, he would risk everything for his children. And, looking at Maria now, he realized that he would risk everything for her.

It was so rare that he had the chance to just look at her without having to hide how he felt. He let himself look now, without restraint. Her appearance was so modest, and yet it never failed to provoke a potent reaction in him. His eyes traveled the length of her body and took it all in: the short hair that he knew to be luxuriously soft; the blue eyes that gave him joy when they sparkled and made him run hot when they darkened; the adorable freckles that made him smile; the sensuous lips that he longed to kiss and penetrate; the tantalizing curves she could not hide, not even behind the most hideous or ill-fitting clothing. He dreamed of seeing what lay underneath that clothing, of molding his body to those voluptuous curves.

He was starting to breathe harder. He shut his eyes and fisted his hands, trying to calm down. He reminded himself that there was a reason he did not allow himself such free rein on his thoughts. It always left him on the verge of losing control, and he always went too far with her when he lost his head. But no more. No matter what happened, he would not continue being the cause of her suffering as he had been for weeks now. The thought helped to steady him. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes.

The decision was finally clear. For both their sakes, he had to speak. One way or the other, the tortured battle between longing and denial, between heart and head, between what he wanted and what was forbidden, would end. Even though he was still undecided as to what he was going to say, he walked toward her.

She must have been completely lost in her thoughts because she did not appear to hear him until he was only a few feet away. Then she started, noticing him, and stood away from the door, her eyes opening wide as they fell on him. It was not the way he had hoped to approach her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

He could tell that she was still somewhat alarmed, but he saw her shoulders relax a bit as she composed herself quickly.

"It's not your fault, Captain. I just didn't hear you."

_Talk to her. Be honest with her._

The silence stretched between them as he struggled for the words that seemed beyond his reach. She saved him from having to speak before he was ready.

"How is Frau Schmidt?"

"She's much improved. I've just been visiting with her. She fully intends to be up and about tomorrow morning."

"Thank the Lord." She closed her eyes briefly, and he knew that the words were more than a mere expression; they were a prayer. It was yet another reason he loved her – for her sincere faith that never failed to inspire.

"And the children? Have they gone to bed already?" She looked up the stairs, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of them.

"Yes, they went upstairs early. I'm afraid Franz's potato soup was a poor substitute for their usual fare." He smiled and was thrilled when she smiled back. It took so little from her to make him happy. "They had hoped to see you tonight. They missed you."

He wanted to tell her how much he had missed her as well, but the words caught in his throat. It had hurt both of them too much the last time he had told her that, when she had stopped his advances, a look of agony in her eyes. Why couldn't he find a way to say what he wanted to say without hurting her? Where were the words he needed?

"I missed them too. I must apologize to them in the morning. I hadn't anticipated being gone so long." She frowned, wrinkling her brow.

He worried about what had happened during all of that time. Had she gone to the abbey for the reasons he suspected, and if so, what had she decided? As much as he feared the answer to that question, he had to know. It would be easy to keep talking about Frau Schmidt and the children, but that would get him no closer to where he wanted to be. It would get him no closer to _her_. He had to open the conversation he needed to have with her, the one that was eluding him despite his intention to tell her the truth.

"How was your visit to the abbey? Was it what you hoped for?"

She dropped her eyes, focusing her gaze just below his. He remembered that he had not shaved and wondered what she saw when she looked at him. It was a stray thought; he knew his nerves were causing the distraction. Her voice recaptured his attention instantly.

"I enjoyed visiting with the sisters. I had almost forgotten the simplicity and order of the abbey. Being there again was like a revelation."

She missed the abbey. Of course. It had been, was still, her home. She had loved it before leaving to serve as governess to the children, and clearly she still did. Some of the hope he had felt after leaving Frau Schmidt drained away. He was astonished, dejected, that it could fade so quickly. He tried to convince himself not to give up so easily. He had not yet told her how he felt.

"And I had a long talk with Reverend Mother. I asked for her counsel." Suddenly she was looking at him again, her eyes intense. "She gave me a lot to think about."

His heart started pounding. She must have told the Abbess about him, about the things that had happened between them. Thinking back to everything he had done and everything he would have done had Maria not stopped him, he could only imagine what the Abbess would have advised. She must have advised Maria to turn away from him and return to the abbey. What other advice could she have given? He felt himself growing cold, numb. The thought of her leaving was drowning out everything else.

"Has she asked you to return to the abbey?"

"No. She told me only I can decide that. She advised me to pray and to search my heart; she said I would find my answers there. I've done nothing else since."

"And have you found your answers? Have you already made a decision?"

_Don't leave me._

He saw the look of pain and confusion in her eyes that made him hate himself for being the cause of it.

"No. But I've been considering returning to the abbey." The pain filled her voice as well as her eyes.

"Because of me." He did not even ask it as a question. He already knew.

"Yes."

A deafening whisper of a word. His ears were ringing so loudly that he almost missed what she said next.

"And because of me. You have not been the only one who…" Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I allowed it, more than I should have."

She had allowed it. In his mind, he saw her eyes closing as he was about to kiss her outside her bedroom door. He heard her gasp when he slid his fingers along her lips. He felt her body trembling as his hands skimmed down her back. He saw her blushing under the intensity of his stare, her eyes more often than not revealing her desire when she stared back. She had allowed it.

But he realized there had been so much more. He saw the warmth in her eyes when he came home for Louisa's birthday. He felt the gentleness of her hands when she had treated his wounds. He saw the frantic look in her eyes when she thought he was hurt and bleeding. He heard her telling him that he was one of the best men she had ever known, asking him if he needed her.

He had been so blind.

"When I came here, I only wanted to fulfill my obligations to the children, and to help this family. I never expected what…what happened with you. But I could never forgive myself if I was the cause of…" She closed her eyes, lowered her head. "You have a life planned with someone else. I didn't come here to destroy it."

She was blaming herself, concerned about hurting him. After everything he had done, she was blaming herself. He could not allow that. He had been an idiot, had behaved selfishly. He had bombarded her with his desire but had neglected to show her what had been growing inside him. He could not allow her to remain ignorant of what he felt for her.

_Talk to her. Be honest with her. And let her make a decision based on the truth._

He reached for her hand and the words finally came.

"But you're mistaken. How could you destroy something that no longer exists? That hasn't existed since the day you first walked through that door?" Her hands were shaking. So were his. He took her other hand as well, hoping they could ground each other.

"I'm not marrying the Baroness. How could I? I don't love her."

The first tears fell from her eyes, and she opened them at last, lifting her head, turning to him. He was surprised by the wetness pooling in his own eyes, but perhaps he should not have been. Not when he could finally see the love in her eyes that had been there all along. After struggling for so long, in the end there were not that many words that needed to be said after all.

"There's only you. For me, there's only you."

He lowered his head and brought his mouth to hers. He barely grazed her lips with his before lightly kissing her again, the salt from her tears coating his lips. He licked it off and slowly kissed her again, his mouth sliding against hers. He was already losing himself in the softness of her lips, already addicted to their sweetness.

When he felt her kissing him back, he shuddered violently, feeling the heat of the kiss spreading through his body. The unexpected force of the reaction in his body made it impossible to keep it slow and light. He deepened the kiss, increasing the pressure. He released her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. She moved into him, her arms reaching around his neck. He wanted to feel her, to pull her _closer closer closer_.

_Wait, wait. Slow down. Not so fast._ The distant thought clamored to break through the primal urges he was feeling. It was only his determination to do things right that allowed him to listen. He forced himself to pull back, to slow down. He did not want to make any more mistakes. He wanted to be sure she understood. He looked at her, breathing hard, but back in control. There was one more thing he wanted to say. He said it with words and he said it with his eyes.

"I love you."

She pulled one hand away from his neck and began lightly scratching the stubble along his jaw. The friction of her touch sent ripples of desire through him. It took only the slightest touch from her to ignite him. He tried not to imagine what it would be like to feel her touch in other places. He had a passing thought that he should tell her to stop, but it nearly escaped him when she swept her fingers across his lips. He grabbed her hand and stopped her, feeling how close he was to losing control again.

She was so beautiful. Her lips were red and swollen, ready to be kissed again. She seemed to have no idea of just how tempting and desirable she was. Before he could stop himself, he returned for another taste of her lips, but he managed to keep the kiss soft and light, like the first ones had been. He needed to keep his head; he did not want to compromise her. And there was one more thing he wanted to say.

"Maria, I don't want to wait to get married. I saw too many lives cut short in the war. Agathe was taken at such a young age. Life is too short to waste any time. But it's a decision we have to make together. If you feel differently, I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you say. I want to do whatever makes you happy."

She studied him for a moment, her expression serious. He did not know what she was looking for, but he hoped she would find it in him. When she nodded, he let go of the breath he had not realized he'd been holding.

"I've lost people too. I learned at an early age that there are no guarantees save one. It's one of the reasons I chose to live at the abbey."

Her words made him realize that he had much to learn about her. He hoped to spend the rest of his life doing so. But for now, she seemed to have more to say. He waited for her to continue.

"My life is with you now. I would marry you next year, next month, or next week. I would marry you tomorrow if it were possible. What makes me happy is loving you."

"You're certain?"

"Oh, yes. I'm certain."

The sense of relief and reassurance he felt was massive. He had not known how much he needed to hear those words from her after having agonized for so long over being the cause of her confusion and suffering. He squeezed her hand. She seemed to understand. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it gently. He felt her breath tickling his skin.

It was a kiss of comfort; it was not intended to be an erotic gesture. He knew that. In his head, he knew that. But the rest of him…the rest of him was helpless.

"I should probably tell you that there's one other reason I don't want to wait to marry you."

"What reason is that?" He was charmed by her naïveté. And aroused by it.

Staring into her eyes, he undid the clasp on her coat, and gently pushed it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. The shiver that passed through her seemed to travel like a bolt of lightning throughout his body.

"You may have noticed…"

He felt his way slowly down her arms and back up again, leaving goose bumps in the wake of his touch. Another shiver, this one stronger, swept through her and he felt his body tighten in response. His hands settled on her lower back.

"…that I find it quite difficult…"

He leaned in to kiss the side of her neck, sucking gently on the pulse point that thudded frantically against his lips. She moaned softly in his ear and clutched his shirt. Her response made him want to press hard against her. He fought the urge, struggling not to give in to it.

"…to resist your charms." He rasped the final words, his voice lost.

He kissed her lips, his tongue teasing, probing, tasting until she opened her mouth and swiped his tongue with hers and then he couldn't think anymore. His hands convulsed against her back and there was only _this, hot...wet...slippery...deeper...touch her...feel her...want...more...don't stop...never stop..._

He broke the kiss, gasping for air, feeling her trembling against him. She opened her eyes, and he had to close his to keep himself from giving in to what he saw there, an unconscious invitation to continue and not stop, not stop until... But he would not take advantage of her.

"That's the other reason." He hardly recognized his own voice.

She loosened her grip on his shirt, and it was a few moments before she stopped shaking and was able to catch her breath.

"Yes, I see what you mean."

He laughed softly at that, and embraced her gently. She rested her head on his shoulder, leaning against him, sighing in contentment. He marveled at his undeserved good fortune. She loved him, and if he was lucky, he would get to spend the rest of his life with her. It seemed a dream, but it was one from which he never wished to wake.

* * * * *

Georg walked down the stairs briskly on his way to join the family for breakfast, humming a tune under his breath. He and Maria had not stayed up late; they had both been too exhausted to discuss the details of their future plans. But they had agreed on one thing before retiring to their rooms; they would tell the children at breakfast about their forthcoming marriage. He did not doubt that the children would happily welcome Maria as their new mother.

He had woken up early from a very pleasant dream, a smile on his lips. How different it had been from the nightmares he'd had for the past several weeks. Although he had lingered in bed trying to remember every detail of the dream, much of it had faded quickly, as dreams were wont to do. But he remembered the sweetest and most intense parts, and he smiled now, knowing that that kind of joy was no longer only a dream.

He was still smiling as he entered the dining room, and his eyes were immediately drawn to Maria. She was wearing the hideous dress she had worn the day she had first arrived at the house. His eyes flickered over it, and when he looked back to her face, he saw that she having trouble containing her amusement. He coughed to hide the laughter that was bubbling up inside; if she could contain her amusement, well then, so could he.

He thought he understood why she had chosen to wear the dress; they were starting over, in a way. It was another beginning, another day one. As he continued looking into her eyes, he felt that he was right. The amusement drained away from him, from her as well. It was replaced by a tenderness in her eyes that made him swallow hard. Love.

"Father, do you think you might be sitting down soon so that we can have our breakfast?"

Gretl seemed none too pleased to be kept from her eggs and sausages. He realized that he had been lost in Maria's eyes again. It seemed that, even though they no longer had to avoid each other, they were far from immune to their pull for each other. He felt rather pleased about that. He was also pleased that he did not yet have cause to miss her blush. He loved to see her cheeks turning red out of embarrassment, as they were now, and for other more interesting reasons. But perhaps those thoughts were best left for another time. He sat down at the table.

"Children, before we have breakfast this morning, there's something I'd like to tell you. It's good news, actually."

How strange. He knew the children loved Maria and that the news would make them happy, but he suddenly felt nervous. He looked at Maria; she nodded in encouragement. The children were watching him expectantly.

"You see, sometimes when people, grownups, spend time together and get to know each other, things change. There are changes to the way things were, and they cannot remain the same." He cleared his throat. The children's blank stares were burning a hole through him. It was no wonder they looked blank; the gibberish spouting from his mouth was confusing even him.

"What your father is trying to say is that he and I love each other and have decided to marry."

Maria was laughing at him with her eyes. She had come to the rescue again, as she always seemed to when he was at a loss for words. He imagined it was something he would have to get used to. Why was it so simple when she said it?

But he had no more time to ponder her superiority, because the children were rushing out of their chairs, shouting excitedly, running back and forth between Maria and him. It could not have been more obvious that they were thrilled.

Friedrich nearly knocked him from his chair with an especially exuberant hug. Liesl planted a quick kiss on his cheek, followed immediately by Louisa, who also hugged him tightly. They had grown closer since her birthday. Gretl was settled on Maria's lap, as though she had always belonged there. Kurt stole half of Gretl's sausage before grinning unrepentantly at Maria, who grinned back.

And Marta…Marta was silent, standing by Maria and holding her hand. "You kept your promise," she said softly. Maria pulled her closer into her embrace.

The tightness in his chest grew swiftly. If he was not careful, his carefully guarded image of the stern Captain would soon be shattered, if it had not been already. He was too easily moved to tears these days.

Only Brigitta remained calmly seated.

"Brigitta, aren't you happy about the news?" Could she have some reason to be upset? He had never seen anything that would make him think so.

He was relieved when Brigitta grinned broadly.

"Of course I'm happy about the news. I was just wondering what took you so long."

And with that precocious and disturbingly revealing remark, she joined the others in celebration. She really was much too observant. He shuddered to think what she might have noticed. Better not to think about it too much. It was too frightening.

"May I pour you some tea, sir?"

Frau Schmidt was already serving him without waiting for a response. After she filled his cup, she looked at him and smiled. What would he have done without her warmth, wisdom, and gentle guidance? Perhaps he would have found his way, but he was grateful she had reached out to him when he had needed it most.

"Thank you, Frau Schmidt."

He meant it for so much more than the tea. By the look in her eyes, he could see that she understood.

He sat back and looked around the table. He had never expected to find happiness again. He did not even feel deserving of this much happiness after making so many mistakes, but it was his all the same. He would never tire of giving thanks. Not when he looked at the family and home he was fortunate to have. Not when he looked at his seven children, his seven miracles. And most especially, not when he looked at the woman sitting across from him, the woman he loved who was looking at him _like that_.

Not when he had Maria.

**The End**

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_Reviews are never forbidden! _:)


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